Ripe
by pennytree
Summary: Set between Sins of the Son and Uprising. A prequel to Cajun Spice that explains how and why Gambit hatched his plot to kidnap Rogue. Focuses on Remy, Rogue, and Kurt, but also involves the New Mutants, the Brotherhood, and a few others. COMPLETE.
1. One

**Disclaimer:** Marvel owns the characters. I own a toaster and a loaf of bread.

**Feedback:** Gotta love those reviews. I notice lots of writers are replying to their reviewers at the end of updated chapters. I won't be able to do that since I'm posting this story as complete, so if you have any questions or comments you want me to answer, just write 'reply' at the end of your review, and I'll e-mail you back. If you leave an email addy, that is. And don't worry, I won't send spam. ;)

**Notes:** The writing bug bit me pretty damn bad after I watched Sins of the Son and Cajun Spice. Got the hugest itch to get a story done, and this was the result. Hope you like.

RIPE

**- ONE -**

A fever she could take, but the sore throat was keeping her up and miserable so about an hour into her insomnia, Rogue marshaled the energy to peek under her bed. Her box of mail rested there. And the dusty pile inside that had stopped growing months ago had seen a sudden rise earlier in the afternoon, when Kitty walked into the room to bring Rogue her mail.

Among the bulk of junk were three manila packages she recognized. Her own fine hand sprawled across their faces. At first, all she could do was blink at the oddity of it.

Maybe that was because she wasn't the correspondence type, like Kitty; in all her life she'd only ever had one person to send mail to, and she'd only started sending micro cassettes to Irene after moving to New York, just shy of two years ago. But Irene had been prompt about answering back, and while Rogue lacked her roommate's gusto for the post office, she did like to preserve the things that mattered.

Window-shopping during her first winter there, she'd found a box littered with small drawings of couches and tables and decided it was a fitting place for Irene's packages. Never mind that Kitty and Jean had exchanged tiny smiles of surprise when they saw it. Rogue wasn't one for cute but familiarity had its merits, and the box for some reason stirred heavy Mississippi longing.

She'd taken it home, thrown out the shoebox she'd been using, and discreetly slipped her new buy under the bed. When Rogue had moved out of the room she shared with Kitty and into her own, the box was the last thing she took out. And in her new room, where everything was arranged in a different way from her old, the box kept its same spot.

Until that afternoon, at least three months had passed since it was opened. The packages inside had been nearing the halfway mark when they stopped coming. Strange enough, the non-event was easy to accept. Knowing Irene was no easy thing, but the years with her and the memories from Mystique brought Rogue close enough to the truth of the woman who'd raised her for the better part of her life. Knowing Irene was like contemplating the Mona Lisa. The only truth they shared was sorrow.

Irene had finally quit sharing.

She slid the box out, opening it softly. In the dark, the moon cast its full rays across the room, reaching to her bed, where in its light she could blink with fevered eyes at the package resting at the top of the pile in the box. On the front, stamped over her own writing, were the words in faded ink, 'Return To Sender.'

After an hour's worth of blinking her lids dragged and the yawns stretched wider, adding to the wooziness in her head. Even the pain in her throat wasn't enough to keep her from closing her eyes.

She slept fitfully.

When she woke in the morning, her fever still ran high, her throat still ached, her nose still clogged, her eyes still burned. And the box was still where she'd left it. The same words still stared up at her.

She pulled her eyes away from it, stared blearily at everything else—eventually rested her tired gaze on Benny the Russ monkey that Kitty had given her as a room-parting gift. It perched on the bookshelf next to her dresser, its small face staring placidly back.

"What do you think, huh?" she croaked to the monkey. "Should I risk a trip home sometime?"

In his beady inanimate eyes, she found no answer.

"I'm delirious," she muttered, and threw off her covers. Getting to her unsteady feet, she stumbled her way to the bathroom and wondered at the silence surrounding her. Considering how slow she was moving, that it was a Friday morning with twenty minutes to go before school, that Amara, Kitty, and sometimes even Jean tore around the halls looking for missing brushes and make-up—there really should've been some pounding on the door already. But lack of that or much of any other sound left her wondering what kind of event had spurred the others to actually be on time for once. Maybe they were downstairs having breakfast—heck, maybe they were already in school.

If they were, the event must've been something like a miracle, like Kelly scheduling a morning pro-mutant rally with a resurrected Magneto as guest speaker.

"Hey, Rogue," she heard as she stepped out of the bathroom.

Amara. So no miracle then, but Rogue forgot her train of thought as she looked at what the girl was carrying. A breakfast tray with a bowl of steaming soup and a small Tropicana carton. The sight of food suddenly reminded her that while appetite was a poor thing at the moment, her stomach was still rumbling.

"Hey," she said. "That for me?"

"Yup. Sam heated up last night's chicken noodle soup. Hope you don't mind leftovers."

"Long as it ain't leftovers of Kitty's cooking."

"As if we'd keep any of that around."

Amara entered the room with Rogue following slowly behind. She hoped Amara would just set the tray on the bedside table and let her take care of the rest. But the younger girl was more of a Nightingale type than Rogue would've figured. She was patient while waiting for Rogue to slip back into bed, and careful about settling the tray over her. "Thanks, 'Mara."

The nickname slipped out without thought. Rogue wasn't sure whether it was really all her doing or a result of the lingering memories absorbed from Kitty or someone else close to Amara. But the girl's face brightened at hearing it so she let the thought go. For once. In some ways, she could be as broody and anal as Scott on his worst days.

"Sure thing, Rogue. You feeling any better?"

Nowhere near but admitting that might make Amara linger, and while Rogue appreciated her efforts, she didn't want a nursemaid hovering around. "Little bit, I guess."

"Ray's still pretty out of it. Kurt's keeping an eye on him."

"Not Hank?"

"No, the Professor took him, Kitty, and Jean to Morocco an hour ago."

"Morocco?" The word 'vacation' was a rusty concept in the Institute, so the trip probably had more to do with Apocalypse than anything resembling a good time—yet she couldn't help a moment of sharp frustration. Bed-ridden once again and missing out on another mission. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually contributed to the team. _Bobby _was doing more with the X-Men lately.

"Okay," Amara said, inhaling deeply before continuing. "I was in the kitchen getting my school lunch and this tray together when 'Berto came in saying he heard from Sam that Jamie told him he heard Kitty telling Bobby that the Professor's got a curator friend there who might've found a lead on the Apocalypse prophecy."

"Oh." Bobby was getting mission briefs from Kitty. So maybe he was being groomed to take a place among the X-Men. With Evan's absence, with Rogue's own series of out-of-commissions, it really was just a matter of time before the Professor had to beef up the increasingly lean team. Only question was whether Bobby would be replacing Evan—or her?

It hurt to think about, but she couldn't blame the Professor for having doubts about her. Hell, he probably always had. It was just—well, now she'd proven that he was right to doubt.

"And Scott, Logan, and Ororo just left for California to help with those fires," Amara continued.

Took Rogue a few seconds to process this. When she did, she mustered a frown. All the senior members were gone then, except—

"So Kurt's in charge" Amara said cheerfully.

* * *

He entered the building and found a dungeon inside, complete with skulls and corpses that rattled with the music of headbangers playing in the distance. Nearby, a cemetery setting housed a group of Marilyn Manson rejects chewing on paninis and comparing body piercings and tattoos. Across the room meanwhile was the typical throng of students, all crowded around a stout boy guzzling beer. Near them a trio of older patrons lounged in what looked like gypsy costumes, as they watched a drunken girl juggle empty beer bottles and shot glasses to the cheers of the small crowd that circled her.

The sight of it all put Remy in mind of Mardi Gras. It was like a sliver of that wild party spirit had warped and wended its way into a heavy metal club in Paris. It made him homesick, and with that thought he felt his mouth twitch from its customary smirk as he passed two women grinning cattily.

"_Bonsoir,_" one said to him, but he was already sliding his way past some dancers.

He found himself in a small alcove in the company of a seated couple, long-faced and dressed in black, oblivious to all as they stared wanly into each other's pale faces. Beside them was an open door, and standing in front of it was the man Remy was looking for.

"Gambit!" the man called over the din. "In here!"

The room Remy followed him into was small and cluttered. From the desk and chairs inside, he guessed it was the office, although the overload of macabre memorabilia and Anthrax and Metallica posters made for a shaky assumption.

"Have a seat."

"_Merci." _The seats were plush and the kind of color meant to compliment Dracula's castle. "Interesting place to settle things, Weston."

"Isn't it?" The grin on the older man's face was like the burnished gleam of a new penny. Remy dismissed it; even if this latest client was a semi-lunatic, it wasn't anything approaching Magneto's level of crazy. "I know the owner," Weston said. "She gives me a bloody good discount on drinks and, as you see, the occasional use of her office. Though we can't stay long."

"Let's get this over with then, shall we?" Remy placed a small velvet pouch on the desk between them and watched the other man contemplate it eagerly.

"You understand—I just have to—"

"By all means, _monsieur_," he said, and cast a bored glance around the room as Weston checked the pouch. When he finished, he closed it and leaned back with that familiar air of contentment common to most of Remy's clients at the end of a deal.

"It's been four years since I last held those lovelies, believe that?" Weston said. "Bloody fool to let 'em go. I won't make that mistake again."

"Best of luck. Plenty of fellows around who want that back in their hands."

"I rather expected you to be one of them. No insult meant."

"None taken. Just so happens I'm not speculating in the diamond market, least for the moment."

"So what's next for a chap like you, then? Heading stateside again?"

Something in his voice brought Remy to attention. "Hard to say."

"You might want to try that route. Here." On the table, the pouch was replaced by a small package. Inside it was the money owed Remy that he didn't really need. But he'd been bored out of his mind his first few days in Paris and this was one of those rare assignments that made his work a Robin Hood affair. It was a nice change, a return of sorts to normal. And the kind of break he needed after Egypt and—what the hell—the entire last year.

Remy slipped the package into his pocket and stood. "_Merci, monsieur._ It's been a pleasure."

"Gambit, wait."

"_Oui?"_

"You really should try a trip back home. I hear your father's in trouble."

His father _was_ trouble. "What else is new, homme?"

"Word around the Paris Guild's—"

"I pay no mind to such things, Weston. I suggest you to do the same."

"Well, I'm a nosy sort of fellow. Like to live vicariously, you know? And what's more exciting than rumors of a kidnapping involving a Guildmaster, eh?"

Remy turned back to the door. "I ain't a part of that anymore," he said. "Add that to your rumor mill."

"Bloody hell, look at you. Likely not past twenty yet and already sporting a massive chip on the ol' shoulder."

"Not your business."

"Cheerio, then. And don't say I didn't warn you."

Remy slammed the door shut. He stalked through the packed club, where body heat smothered his face, made him clench his hands and wish desperately for something to blow up or at least slam his fist into.

Once outside, he lit a cigarette. Standing just beyond the light of a streetlamp, he blew hazy rings into the chilly air and waited for reason to come. But smoking only brought to mind the father who'd encouraged the habit, and that only further shaded his already murky thoughts.

He'd taken up smoking at fourteen because he found that, with his particular powers, the second best thing to have in his coat pocket after a deck of cards was a pack of cigarettes. His father had approved of this logic to the point where he'd stacked numerous card decks and entire cartons of Marlboros in Remy's closet. The stash never ran out, despite his cousins' pilfering.

"Got a light?" The voice was light and smooth and nothing he wanted to be bothered with at the moment, but Remy smiled at the blonde and gave her a lighter and kept smiling until she gave it back.

"Thanks," she said, returning his smile.

"_De rien, madamoiselle."_

"Oh. _Perdon. __J'ai pense que vous-etes l'Américain__. Parlez-vous anglais?"_

"Yes," he said, then turned his back on her to walk in the direction of the hotel he was crashing at. Packing would be nothing more than putting his toothbrush in his duffel. He'd be in a plane within an hour or two, and across the Atlantic in another eight.

* * *

It was her first time in the first class section and she nursed a thin hope that she'd get the chance to eat the kind of salmon dinner Bernadette had once bragged about. But that was years ago, and she'd recently read somewhere in the Sunday paper (and that reminded her, she needed to cancel the subscription now that Art was gone) that the airlines were skimping on money by offering only refreshments instead of meals, and of course her first time in first class would have to be when the standards of service had lowered and salmon dinners were being phased out of the air flight experience.

She offered a small smile to the young man on her right as he shifted in his seat. He was an interesting looking boy—the 'artsy' type, as she'd heard so often said. But he was quiet and she could plainly see he knew about manners the way most others his age didn't seem to understand. Put her in mind of her own son Bill, who was so much like his father nowadays that when they talked on the phone—a daily thing, mind you, because Bill was a considerate boy who certainly deserved a nicer sort of girl than the one he'd chosen now. But Art had always warned her about keeping that to herself and despite her objections to that, she knew he'd been right on that score. Bill was a brilliant boy, but stubborn in his way. So much like his father, and that was why when she chatted with her son on the phone, it was easy to get confused sometimes and call him Art.

"Excuse me," she said, as the flight attendant walked by. "Do you think I could have a blanket? It's very cold here."

"Of course," the young lady said, motioning to the air vents above Pam's head. "Would you like me to adjust this for you?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I actually don't mind the air on my face. It's just my legs I'd like warm."

"No problem." The young lady glanced at the passenger beside Pam. He'd turned away from the window to watch the exchange. "Would you like one too, sir?"

He shook his head and smiled politely, and the impression Pam had first formed of him was solidified when he turned back to the window to resume his study of the clouds. Hadn't even tried to get fresh with the flight attendant, and that was more than could be said about the pair of young men two rows in front, who were muttering and laughing as they eyed the young lady passing them. No doubt they'd be asking for all kinds of nonsense during the course of the trip, just to pester the poor girl. No regard at all for the comfort and safety of the other passengers. It was a dangerous thing these days, the arrogance and disrespect of youths. The Dorset girl, for example. Raised with the luxury that her parents had lacked and worked so hard to surround their only child with—and what did she do but throw it in their faces, getting into drugs, having abortions, shacking up with a man twice her age. And married, no less. No wonder her father had had a heart attack.

But he'd survived that, hadn't he? Surprised them all and Lord forgive her, but she couldn't understand why Bill hadn't received that same blessing. He'd always done right by his parents. It seemed wrong for a good father to be taken from such a fine son. Meanwhile there were ungrateful children given another chance to put their poor parents through more suffering.

"Here you go." Pam stared some moments at the light blue fabric held in front of her without understanding what she was seeing. "I brought you a pillow, too."

That shook her out of the reverie and she smiled at the girl. "I hadn't thought of that. Thank you very much."

The girl offered another pillow to Pam's neighbor. He took it this time, with the same polite smile from before, and when the young lady walked away, Pam said to him, "Now that's what I call excellent service."

He nodded calmly, resting his pillow on his lap.

"Have you flown first-class before?"

"Yes."

"Really? Well, this is all new to me. I must confess, I think this is the best part of my trip so far. Although, I was already looking forward to getting back even when all I had was a regular coach ticket." When he looked at her, she continued, "Oh, now, don't get me wrong. England's a lovely country and it was nice to meet family I didn't even know I had. I'd like to come back in a few years. But I've just been missing New York so dreadfully. Maybe next time I'll bring my son along—won't feel so alone that way. A vacation's not quite the same when you're on your own, is it?"

"I suppose not."

His brogue wasn't English, but the accent was similar. She wondered about his trip to the States. "You're going on vacation yourself, then?" she said.

"I'm visiting my father."

"How lovely. He must be looking forward to seeing you."

"It's a surprise."

"Oh. Well, those are always nice, aren't they?" she said, to which he smiled politely again. Such an unassuming person—but those were the best to talk to, and so she continued, "You know, I was supposed to be on an earlier flight. I gave my seat up to another man. His wife was having a baby, but his business trip ran late—missed his plane without meaning to." She chuckled a little. "They bumped me up to first class for helping. Lovely way to end the trip."

He looked at her again.

"He was a rather nice man. One of those hurrying types—you know, the eternal businessman—but awfully kind anyway. Else I wouldn't have given my seat to him. He told me they're having a boy. Their first. That's always fitting, isn't it?"

She always thought that would be the best thing for a couple—boys were so much stronger, and the father would have an easier time settling into the new family with miniature versions of themselves to look after. She and Art had thought of trying for a daughter later on but somehow that had kept getting put off, occupied as she'd been with Bill, and busy as Art had been with the growth of his bakery. But it was easy to devote everything to Bill. He deserved it.

"I told Art—my husband, you know—I told him that our son Bill was our first and only likely because once we had our perfect little boy, it might've been selfish to ask for more. He was an adorable child, you see. And so very attached to his father."

An expression fell on his face then that she didn't really understand—probably he was moved by something she'd said. A sensitive boy underneath the reserve. Wasn't that just like an artist?

"I tell you," she went on, hoping for more such reactions, "there was no finer man to raise a child than Art. He's passed on, but I know he's still up there caring for us in his own way. I know it. A father's duty doesn't end with his death, I always tell ev—"

"Pamela."

That surprised her. Had she told him her name then? She couldn't remember, but she must've let it slip. She glanced at him to find he was scowling deeply. That was a rather disturbing reaction. "Are you all right?" she said.

"I will be. Once you shut up."

She blinked. "Pardon?"

"You're not going to speak another word on this trip. Starting now."

She had no time to be shocked. Her head began throbbing with a pain she'd never felt in her entire life. It rushed from her nose to her temples, seized her mind. Settled there with the sharp heavy weight of a jagged rock. Then—

Blackness.


	2. Two

**- TWO -**

Megalomaniac, martyr, or just plain misunderstood—whatever else Magneto may have been, the man had one thing that Remy could understand and respect: timing.

He'd come along a little after Remy walked out on his father and the Guild, with a new resolve to make himself useful on his own terms. Encountering Magneto gave him the opportunity to do just that. Of all places, it was in Rhode Island in the middle of a heist when Magneto first approached him, offered Remy the chance to be more than a thief. Blatantly patronizing, sure—enough to make him bristle at the time—but Remy could tell subtlety really wasn't the old man's strong point. Fairly easy to see from that angle how the old man wasn't actually making an offer so much as a veiled threat to join his club.

So Remy brushed aside pride in favor of wisdom.

If his nonchalant acceptance seemed to surprise Magneto and put him on guard, there was also a sense of relief from him at the end of the encounter that was a little bit like gratitude. Finding out later that Colossus had been blackmailed, and both Pyro and Sabretooth coerced into submission, it was easier to understand why Magneto seemed to favor him (the last of the recruits) with more competence than the others.

Just a matter of logic. He'd had nowhere else to go. No one he could call friend. Not that 'friend' was a word he would've associated with Magneto or any of the other Acolytes, but in the course of his time with them, Remy liked to think that he'd found a place for himself in a team with the supposed goal of bettering life for mutantkind.

Never mind that Magneto's methods lacked a certain amount of polish and, well, proper thinking; never mind that the others resented their leader and his right-hand man and carried out orders efficiently without any kind of true loyalty to the team; never mind that Remy was really only a half-hearted mutant activist at best.

Last time he'd actually helped fellow mutants on its own merit was that day at the high school, spying on the two X-Men during their encounter with the local yokels.

Maybe that day was the start of it for Remy. He'd gone back to the Acolytes' Manhattan base completely unimpressed by the X-Men and Brotherhood both, one team ineffective against the pressures of the real world, the other just glaringly incompetent. Magneto meanwhile had gathered grown men—dangerous men—to fight by his side. Remy was one of them.

And instead of the usual reassurance, he'd felt only vague discomfort at the thought.

After that, he took to leaving the base every free moment he had. Not that anyone complained. He knew Colossus at least noticed the change, which only seemed to make the stoic Russian more vocal than usual in his criticism of their leader. Sabretooth was too often gone to care; Pyro too caught up in his own antics to understand. Remy couldn't close his eyes to it anymore—even Magneto himself couldn't keep the team cohesive, despite his threats and tantrums. Or maybe because of them.

By the time Mesmero happened along, Remy's unsettled mind was more than willing to let hypnosis claim it. By the time the Acolytes walked into the London museum, they were all more than itching for a chance to vent their frustrations in a shaky confrontation with the X-Men. By the time Xavier gleaned information on the spider that was actually their best hope of saving the world, Magneto was well beyond being dissuaded from his crusade to remain the world's most powerful mutant. By the time Rogue snuck into their compound, all the supposedly grown and dangerous men on the team were more than ripe for a total, humiliating defeat at the hands of one sullen slip of a girl.

When Apocalypse walked out of his chambers, Remy was more than expecting to fall. When the Acolytes were left behind in Egypt, Remy complained even though his gut seemed to relax, finally—more than relieved to see Magneto go.

And when the news showed their leader disintegrating at a mere flick of Apocalypse's wrist, it was in exactly the same moment that each and every one of the Acolytes parted ways without a single look back.

Timing, really. It was all about the timing.

"You!"

"If you're looking for a fight, yo, I gotta tell ya we got someone now who could really kick your ass."

"Uh, Toad? Wanda went out."

"Shut up, Blob!"

The boy Avalanche clutched a butter knife in his hands. "Don't have quite the right effect when it's got mustard smears," Remy said. "Unless you're just tryin' to make me laugh." Batting it away with a casual finger, he strolled past the trio at the door and took a few sniffs of air in the hall. "Damn. A skunk die in here?"

"Nah," the frog boy said. "That's Freddie's lunch. What's left of it, anyway."

Right on cue, the fat boy burped.

Remy caught the glare Avalanche gave his friends and wondered, not for the first time, how the house still stood. He'd caught the news about the Brotherhood's short-lived career as town do-gooders, remembered that one of the benefits had been a total remodeling of the house. But he couldn't see any difference from his last visit. The same fissures still ran along the walls, ceiling, and floor; the same tattered remains of a few frames still barely clung to their nails. He figured civil war continued to break out daily here.

"Get out of our house!"

"Easy now." Avalanche was speaking through gritted teeth—Remy expected any moment now to feel the ground shaking and see the walls sporting another couple of cracks. "I'm just looking for someone."

"Here?" Blob scratched his head. "Who?"

"Pyro."

"The one in orange with the creepy laugh?" Toad said.

"One and only. Hasn't been by, has he?"

"Why would he come here?"

Desperation. "He might've mentioned something once," Remy said lightly, making his way into the kitchen with the others trailing like uncertain pups. "Probably thought you'd fancy some extra firepower against your buddies over at Xavier's."

"He's wrong," Avalanche said. "We don't need anyone."

"'Course not. Clearly you and your friends got a handle on things here." He stepped over broken eggshells and flour stains on the sticky kitchen floor, reached the grimy stove to inspect what was there. The lone pot was warm and still strongly smelled of dead rodent. "Like feeding yourselves some foul lunches."

"That's Freddie," Toad said. "He'll eat anything."

"I don't eat flies," Freddie muttered.

"What's it to you, anyway?" Avalanche said. "We already told you, Pyro isn't here. When you find him, tell him he's not welcome here either. Neither are you. Or any of Magneto's other goons, got it? We get enough trouble from the X-geeks."

Remy was on the point of shrugging his shoulders and leaving when Toad said, "Ain't that being a little unfair, Lance?"

"What?"

"Maybe that Pyro guy's got the right idea. I think we should let him crash here if he wants to."

"Todd, he tried to roast us that time!"

"_Au contraire,_" Remy said. "Magneto's orders were to keep you all busy. No killing. Would've been a shame, otherwise—many fine ladies to meet that day. Maybe that's why you always lose? You pups get distracted, non?"

"No, we lose because the X-Men got better powers," Freddie said. "Look at Rogue. She took on all of us just by herself and won. Didn't even get a scratch on her, I bet."

"Man, that wasn't a fair fight," Todd whined. "We were ambushed in the comfort and safety of our own _casa_!"

"I'm just saying, none of us could do the same to the X-Men."

"And it took her longer to catch me, anyway. At least compared to you—you just sat there!"

"You wore my cereal bowl on your head! Could've moved a little faster to help when she attacked me!"

"Shut your pieholes, huh?" said Lance. "What difference does it make? Rogue wasn't even really Rogue that day."

"Yeah," Todd said, still glaring at Freddie. "And anyhow, let's not forget that she was a Brotherhood chick first. Fact, she was _the _first Brotherhood chick. Aside from Mystique."

"What the hell does that matter?"

"I don't know. Just makes me feel better thinking a high-and-mighty X-Man was one of us once."

"What, you miss her? Because I sure as hell don't. And you got Wanda to harass now anyway."

"Man, what'chu on? Me and Wanda—we got a mutual attraction thing going, okay?" Turning to Freddie again, Todd said, "And I bet _she _could take on all the X-Men. With both eyes closed."

"Will you quit it with that?"

"What, Lance?" said Freddie. "Don't like us talking about your former teammates?"

"If you two don't shut up—"

"Former teammates?" Remy interrupted, earning blinks in response. The boys looked startled by the question—they seemed to have forgotten about Remy while he leaned against the counter, observing their dynamics. He couldn't imagine Colossus, Sabretooth, and Pyro arguing this long without a few bruises and burns to show for it.

"Didn't know that, didja?" said Freddie. "Lance likes to pretend it never happened, but yup—he was an X-Man. For a week. Then they kicked him out."

"I told you—I left." Lance was scowling and, surprisingly, not causing an earthquake. "Summers was more annoying than all of you put together, so I left."

"See, that's what I was saying before," said Todd. "We let you come back after you bounced on us, so why can't we let Pyro join? So what if he was an Acolyte? Least he was never an X-Man. Like some people."

"Yeah," Freddie piped in.

"Whatever," Lance said, pushing past them. As he did so a slight tremor shook the ground under their feet. Just before stalking out completely, he turned back to point a hostile finger at Remy. "You—you started all this. I'm gonna go upstairs and punch something else besides your face and Toad's and Blob's, just because I'm feeling generous today. Then I'm gonna go take a leak. You better be gone by the time I'm done."

"So speaketh our great leader, yo," said Todd, but only after Lance had left. "Don't know why Baldy let him stay at the Institute for even one day when he knew he was just gonna have to kick him out sooner or later. Who else but us would put up with him, you know?"

"He said he left," Remy reminded him.

"That's just talk," Freddie said, scoffing.

"You don't think Xavier really wanted to help?"

Freddie shrugged, saying, "Even if he did, Scuggers sure as hell didn't and probably changed Baldy's mind about helping—because whatever Cyclops wants, Cyclops gets."

There was a notable difference in the way the boy started and ended that sentence. The scowl, the shoulder slump—he looked both depressed and pissed, and to divert him from possibly channeling his aggravation towards the houseguest who hadn't actually been invited, Remy chose that moment to say, "The phone, _s'il te plait."_

"Why?" Todd said, reaching anyway for the cordless near him.

"I'd like you to use it."

"What for?"

"For its common purpose, _oui_? You're gonna make a call. Dial the number to a pizzeria."

"Who you think you are, telling me what—"

"Todd!" shouted Freddie.

"What?"

"He said to call for _pizza_!"

"Oh." So Todd did, and, waiting on the line, asked, "Who's paying for this, yo?"

"Looks like I picked the right time to visit, _non_? Else lunch would've been a real sad matter."

"I don't think Lance is gonna want you staying for pizza, man."

"_Je sais. _I won't be staying." Remy walked out of the kitchen, passing by the now eager-looking Freddie as the boy whispered toppings for Todd to include. "Thanks for your help,_monsieurs."_

"Hey!" Todd called. "Where's the money?"

"Your friend's pocket. Left side."

"Oh, wow, lookit that!" Remy heard Freddie say. "You'd think I'd remember having this much. How'd he know?"

"He put that there, genius. You get really dumb after you hear the word 'pizza,' know that?"

Remy closed the door behind him and walked to his bike, whistling. Looking to Pyro for help in freeing his father had been a long shot anyway. In Egypt, just before the Acolytes disbanded, Pyro had mentioned going back to idle around the base in New York, so that had been Remy's first stop once he arrived. But he'd found it empty. Pyro had a tendency of getting side-tracked, and it was probably better that he had, because now Remy realized there were other sources of help that wouldn't require the extravagant payment Pyro would've expected. If Remy pitched this right, he wouldn't have to pay at all. So free help and the possibility of a few new clients.

He had a real plan now, thanks to the Brotherhood. A lucky thing that Pietro and Wanda hadn't been there to possibly spoil the visit, and that Lance had indulged his generous mood.

Always about the timing, and turning into the road just in time to catch the green light, Remy thanked whatever superior forces above had blessed him with a sense of that to rival Magneto's.


	3. Three

**- THREE -**

They were out of chicken noodle soup, so Kurt had sent him to ask Sam to fix the problem because out of everyone else left in the house, Sam seemed to be the person with the lowest chances of burning down the kitchen.

If anyone had asked him, Jamie could've told them that Campbell's put soup into cans that were easy to open, pour into a bowl, and microwave. And those cans were stacked on the third shelf in the pantry next to the Ramen noodles. But no one ever asked him. So Jamie kept his mouth shut and let Kurt think that Miss Monroe's soup was just another one of her special homemade recipes.

It didn't take long to find Sam. The first place Jamie thought to look in was the garage, and sure enough when he neared it he could hear Sam talking with 'Berto. Sam was probably waxing his dirt bike again for the zillionth time this week and 'Berto was probably complaining again about why they couldn't drive the cars like the senior members were allowed. Jamie was glad they couldn't—the older boys liked to rag on him for being too young for this or too small for that, so it was nice to know they got to feel what it was like for him. In the end, they were all the same—newbie mutants compared to the X-Men.

And Jamie would've waltzed in to remind them that if 'Berto wasn't talking about something else totally.

"—letter. Sure she's missing us here, but it sounds like Rahne's doing okay back home. She's making it out there, Sam."

"What about Jubilee? She complains all the time when she calls. Pass me the Windex."

"Jubilee complains all the time, period. That girl's a certified whiner."

"Okay, yeah. But still—it's a stretch to say they're better off now. They're just hiding out back home."

"What were we doing here before Magneto and the Sentinel blew all our covers? Wasn't the Institute just one big mutant hiding place before that?"

Jamie hadn't thought of it like that. Standing just outside the garage, listening in on 'Berto talk like he was a little mad for some reason at staying here at the Institute, Jamie decided he had to keep eavesdropping just a little bit longer.

"You know that's not what the Professor's doin' here, 'Berto."

"I know, but look at the X-Men. Those 'senior members' are really just kids a little bit older than us who're here because they don't have anywhere else to go."

"That ain't true. Well, maybe Kurt and Scott and Rogue. But Kitty and Jean wouldn't be here if they didn't want to be."

"Don't get me wrong when I say this, okay? Because I'm not—hey! Leave me some turtlewax, you hog!"

"There's plenty left! Here. Yeesh!"

They must've spent a few seconds glaring at each other, but 'Berto seemed to get over it because after a while he started talking again. "Remember what Amara told us about Kitty?" he said. "The Professor recruited her right after she found out she was a mutant and freaking out about her powers."

"And?"

"And Jean's telepathy would've driven her crazy without the Professor's help."

"So he helped them get it together. Whaddaya expect?"

"Right. So—maybe a part of why they're staying here's because, you know, it's like a thank you or something."

They were quiet a few seconds, then Sam said, "I can't believe you just said that."

"I know. Good thing the Professor's not around. I'd get kicked out."

"Maybe you wanna get kicked out."

"No, I like it here, I swear I do! It's just—cabin fever, I guess."

"Now I know you're crazy. This is about as far a cry from cabin as it's gonna get."

Jamie found himself nodding to that—even now, he still got lost sometimes, and there were places on the estate that he'd never been yet, like out in the west side of the woods where Ray said he'd seen a bear once.

"Anyway," Sam continued, "the Professor wouldn't kick you out for that. Maybe just give you that fierce hairy eyeball that he does, like when Scott argues with him sometimes. And Rogue. But they're still around, right?"

"That's because Scott's got this wholesome-preppy-big-man-on-campus thing going for him that lets him get away with stuff no one else can. And Rogue's the wildcard everyone wants on their side because even without her powers that glower alone can scare anyone off."

"She ain't that bad."

"Oh, that's right. You're sweet on your fellow Southerner." Jamie heard 'Berto snort. "Just because she called you 'sugar' one time. And I saw the look on her face—she didn't mean to say it. Probably wanted to take it back."

"Quit gabbing, Dacosta! I wouldn't talk if I were you—hovering 'round the mailman when he comes by 'cause your life's all about Rahne's love letters now."

"Please. Rahne's just a kid. And if she's crushing on me, can you really blame her? I am a Dacosta, after all.

"Bullhockey. You're delusional."

"You're a wax hog. See? Nothing left already and all I got done was the side—and look at yours! It's so burnished I'm getting cross-eyed looking at it!"

Jamie grinned. _This _was more like it, and he was about to step inside to join in the fun when a hand clamped down hard over his shoulder. Squeaking, he looked up to find Bobby wearing an evil smile on his face.

"Snooping again, shrimp?"

"Wha—no! I was just—"

"Listening in on another conversation that doesn't involve you." Bobby dragged him into the garage. "Hey, guys, Nosy here was at it again."

"Great," muttered Sam, turning back to his bike for another swipe at some invisible spot on its already shiny paint. It was funny to Jamie, because the bike color was a near match to the shade that Sam's ears were turning. Before he could say anything about it, 'Berto tossed his rag on a work shelf and walked over to them. Watching him near, Jamie started fidgeting. Rogue's death glare just got some serious competition.

"How much did you hear?" 'Berto asked, sounding like Wolverine on a bad day.

"Not much," said Jamie.

"Bet he heard everything," Bobby said, then smiled even wider when 'Berto paled and Sam went even more tomato. "Guess it was an interesting chat, huh?"

"Shut up, Bobby," said 'Berto. "Jamie, tell anyone what you heard and you'll be on the receiving end of the world's worst case of wedgie _ever."_

"I won't, I swear!" Jamie said.

"Hang on, now," said Bobby. "You can't badger the poor kid if he feels like talking sometime."

"Don't be an ass, Bobby."

"That's not any way to treat your future team leader, Sammy boy."

"Dream on."

"I don't think so. In fact, why do you think I'm here now?"

"To be annoying."

"No—well, yeah—but I'm also here because it's like I keep saying, people—I cover your backs."

"What're you babbling about, Bobby?" 'Berto said, rolling his eyes as he headed to the sink.

"Look, last night I raided the fridge kinda late, right, because you know how I get really hungry and for some reason I was craving rocky road with Cookie Crisps—"

"Aw, hurry it up, huh?"

"Okay! I'm getting there, just wait! So I'm there in the kitchen sitting at the counter all by myself when I get goosebumps on my neck—"

"Pimples," said 'Berto, without looking up from his hand scrubbing. "You get pimples on your neck, Bobo. Your face, too."

"You should talk. That thing on your chin's getting so big we oughtta name it already. Now where was I—oh, right. So I look over my shoulder and see something out the window. But I can't tell what."

"A person?" said Jamie.

"Can't tell, I said."

"Oh." Then, "A bear?"

"Jamie!"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, I just checked the vids from the security cameras, but nothing turned up."

"You told Kurt?" Sam asked.

"Haven't seen him yet. You're the first to know."

"It probably wasn't anything," 'Berto said, turning the faucet off. "A hungry squirrel or chipmunk staring in to see what the weirdo in the kitchen was eating."

"Maybe," Bobby said. "But keep an eye out—we don't want any surprises, especially now."

"Sure thing, Logan."

"Go ahead and make fun, but it's gonna happen soon, guys. Sure we're the junior team, but someday we'll have to deal with things without any senior member watching over us. They're gonna send us out on real missions, appoint a field leader, and—well—" Bobby shrugged in that 'I'm Da Bomb' way of his, as one finger froze a droplet that was threatening to fall from the faucet. "Who else is better at keeping cool under pressure?"

Sam shook his head, finally stepping away from his bike. "Man, you're so full o' crap no wonder I saw you taking Ex-lax."

'Berto grinned and Jamie started laughing, but Bobby shrugged it off. "Laugh now, peeps, but you'll see. I mean, who was the one Kitty told about Morocco? And with Evan gone, who're the X-Men picking to beef up their ranks?"

That shut Jamie up. Sam and 'Berto were quiet too, as they all stared at Bobby's smug little smile. Scott was even letting Bobby train with the senior team more—not that he did so great there, but it really was a sign, wasn't it? Jamie hated the idea. Bobby's head would just keep getting bigger and bigger until it reached the size of Alaska and they'd need a pin the size of Rhode Island to pop it—and suddenly, Jamie remembered.

Making sure his voice had the right kind of hurt in it, he said, "I guess that's why Kurt picked you and not anyone else."

"What's that?" said Bobby, smirking at 'Berto and Sam.

"He probably doesn't trust any of us to get it right."

"Don't take it personal, shrimp. Just the breaks, you know?"

"I guess."

"So what does he want me to do?"

"It's real important, he told me," and here Jamie looked at Bobby seriously, putting all his acting skills into it. Staring with wide eyes at the other boy's anxious face, he finished.

"You gotta make more soup."

* * *

"C'mon, man, lemme borrow it."

"No."

"I'll spot you for gas, I swear, yo!"

"No!"

Migraines were a common thing to Lance thanks to his powers, but what he had now had nothing to do with his mutation. No, this—throbbing from the base of his skull to all around his temples and the spot just between his eyes that kept a steady rhythm of pound-pound-pound and left him severely yearning for a lobotomy—this was a Toad-induced headache.

"They're gonna need a ride home!"

"They can take the train. Like they did to get there, so stop bugging me! If you want to meet up with them so bad, take the train yourself!"

"Aw, come on, man!"

"Let him use it, Lance," said Freddie. "He's not gonna shut up until you do."

"No one drives my jeep but _me_," he replied, letting the walls shake now.

"Fine," Todd said. "Drive me to the city, then."

"No, I'm busy."

"You ain't doing nothing!"

"I'm watching TV."

"C'mon, Lance!" And this time Todd hopped up and down to make his point. "I'll hotwire the jeep if you don't!"

"You don't know how to do that."

"Try me, yo!"

Freddie nodded. "I saw him look it up on-line at school one time. He probably won't get it started, but your wires'll be trashed."

Lance's growl was low and dangerous, but Todd's pasty face just smiled back. "I'll kick your ass," Lance said.

"I don't care."

Lance believed that. For Wanda, Todd was probably willing to risk losing an eye or something equally stupid. "Fine, I'll drive you."

"Really?"

"Yeah—but I want you outta my face from now on! You don't bug me about any other favors so you can impress Wanda! And I don't wanna hear crap about Gambit or Pyro or anything that has to do with those dorks! You're just gonna shut up the whole ride to the city!" Then maybe his migraine would go away.

Todd nodded his eager dumb nod and mimed that he was zipping his mouth shut. Lance figured it wouldn't last past the front door, but worth a try. He stood from the cushions of the couch he'd been planning to spend the rest of the day on, trying not to look back with longing. Todd was a lucky bastard. If it were any other time…but Lance really _had _woken up in a decent mood today, and not even Gambit's visit killed it, since the pizza ploy turned out to be a good way to keep Freddie at least quiet for a solid half hour with the four boxes that was just for him.

"Can we stop by White Castle?" Freddie asked as they all trouped to the door.

Lance gaped at him. "You gotta be joking."

"I'm still hungry," Freddie said, avoiding his eyes.

"No, you're not," Lance said. "You just wanna see if that girl's there tonight."

"So we're going?"

Lance sighed. "Whatever." He turned the knob to open the door, then spun back again. "But that's it! No more stops after White Castle—I don't want any more headaches!"

But looking up, he found that someone was blocking his way, a blond guy Lance had never seen before. Probably one of Gambit's friends, from the clothes and smirk he wore. Lance's mood turned sour. "Who the hell're you?" he demanded.

"That depends," the blond said, his voice thick with accent. "I'll either be your new best friend—"

Lance clenched his fists, causing underground tremors.

"Or your worst headache yet."


	4. Four

**- FOUR -**

The static shock from the doorknob was enough to make Kurt almost drop the tray, but he managed to keep it balanced as he opened the door and walked in. Soon as he did, the electrical charge inside caused every strand of his hair and fur to rise. He looked down at himself in dismay.

Anyone who saw him right then would think he was the lovechild of Hellraiser and the Cookie Monster.

Sighing, he turned the light on and placed the tray on the dresser, pondering the risk of waking him. Kurt had gotten zapped earlier when he'd dropped off breakfast. He didn't feel like repeating the experience. Instead of nudging Ray's shoulder like last time, he chose to keep a safe distance as he said, "Dinner's here, Ray."

Nothing.

"Time to eat."

Still nothing.

"Sehr gut," he muttered, then raised his voice a bit. "Hey, wake up!"

But Ray slept like the dead. Even when Kurt was really yelling, it only earned a light snore in reply. Finding nothing in the room that could serve as a prod, Kurt ported to a tree outside, picked up the first twig he saw that looked long and sturdy enough to suit, then returned to Ray's room. He walked a few steps nearer the bed, using the twig for a cautious tap on the sleeping boy's arm.

Ray stirred. As he did, an electrical current shot out from his arm. Kurt quickly dropped the twig and jumped back.

"Oh, man!" He really wished Kitty had been left back instead. Her phasing powers would've been ideal for this, but the Professor had said since she was the same age as some of the recruits, she'd have a harder time getting them to listen to her. Kurt didn't believe that for a second. She'd probably bargained her way into the Morocco mission, used something that the Professor couldn't turn down, like promising never to play chauffeur to him again.

Ray let out another snore.

"Maybe later denn, okay?" Kurt said, backpedaling to the door slowly, keeping a careful eye out for any sign of blue currents. At the door, he switched the light off and used his tail to swing the door shut, then ported from the hall to the kitchen.

Where he stared for five minutes at the second tray waiting on the table for delivery.

Kitty wasn't there, but there were five able recruits in the house that he was technically in charge of and if he told one of them to take care of the tray, the order would have to be followed, right? Although maybe he'd have to scratch Jamie out on the list, because it just seemed wrong to send someone that small to deal with Rogue. And Sam seemed to get skittish around her for whatever reason, so that was out, too. So Bobby or 'Berto or Amara then. Except that Bobby and 'Berto were responsible for the prank that had flooded the girls' bathroom, and not enough time had passed to ease even Jean's grudge.

Okay. Amara. She'd been the one lately taking food up to Rogue anyway. Even returned from the task still reasonably chirpy and in one piece the first time she'd done it, which was why Kurt had left the task up to her since then. She was probably still resting after the Danger Room session she'd begged him to program (and _that _had been really weird), but what he'd set up hadn't been too hard, so she wouldn't take too long resting, right? And she wouldn't mind the chore…

Kurt slumped into a seat, swiping a hand over his face.

He was hiding behind a girl. What would his parents say?

It took another minute of squaring his shoulders and pretending he had nerves of steel before he could pick up the tray. "I can do this," he said, nodding firmly. "_Ja."_

Then ported to the hall, standing just outside the door to Rogue's room. He knocked, and when that didn't get a reply, he puffed out a breath and opened the door.

On the bright side, the room wasn't statically charged. It was quiet, darker than any of the other bedrooms thanks to the generous amounts of black that filled it. Black throw rug, black-lined curtains, black-framed prints and posters and pictures, black bed-sheets, black-and-white checkerboard comforter—and looking at the unmoving lump underneath it, Kurt found another bright side. Like Ray, Rogue was asleep.

He tiptoed to the table next to her bed and softly placed the tray there. He wouldn't try to wake this one up, so he flipped only the switch to the bedside lamp. Maybe he could send Amara later to check in. That wasn't hiding behind the girl anymore, right? Because he'd brought the tray in himself, hadn't he?

He was on the point of turning back to the door when the lump moved. Kurt's face fell when he saw the striped auburn head start to peek out from under the comforter, followed by a pair of bleary eyes.

Obviously, unlike Ray, Rogue was a light sleeper.

"Hey," she said, scratchy-voiced.

"Hey," he replied, pointing to the tray. "Dinner time."

She started sitting up. As sleep wore off her face, Kurt could feel the tension seep into the room. "I'll be back in thirty minutes to pick that up," he said flatly, turning away.

"I know the Professor told you."

He was near the door, just a few more steps—_short _steps, but he didn't take them. Instead he clenched his jaw. He'd been expecting this from her. Now was a bad time, though, since he'd been raised to be kind to the sick. And getting into this now with Rogue was going to make him yell.

"_Ja_," he said, looking back. "So?"

A day after the incident at the cliffs, Kurt had found himself in the study facing Hank and the Professor, listening to their account of Rogue and Apocalypse's meeting in the Egyptian chamber. She remembered a few things about it, enough to give the Professor a sketchy report and let him take an even fuzzier probe. And she'd asked the Professor to clue Kurt in on some of it. The parts involving Mystique.

Reciprocal imprinting, the fancy term the two adults used for the power transfer between Apocalypse and Rogue. From what Kurt could make of it, Apocalypse's mutation was almost the same as hers, except his control and experience was just way, way beyond hers. So instead of canceling out each other's powers, a weaker Rogue had just ended up giving away all hers.

Some part of her must've resisted, though, because she'd picked up a few mental images from Apocalypse. The Professor hadn't gone into detail about most of them—they were vague, he'd said. And Kurt didn't need to hear him say that they were probably also very disturbing, and therefore confidential. Actually, so were the ones about Mystique, but Kurt was her son, so he was one of the people included on the need-to-know list, at least for that part of Rogue's report.

Mystique was in limbo somewhere, probably hurting, probably miserable. Probably mad. Because Rogue had shoved and broken into itty-bitty rocky pieces her one-way ticket out.

But at least she wasn't dead. And Rogue had known that when she watched the statue break.

She'd waited two weeks to bring this up. If Kurt weren't so disappointed and upset and confused and just plain pissed off, he would've cheered her. Two whole weeks, and Rogue was never the patient type. But then, he never would've expected her reaction that night on the cliffs, either. People could surprise you, a lesson he'd learned well ages ago. He shouldn't have been so naïve as to think that everything she'd been through would only make its momentary bruise, then go away to make Rogue _Rogue_ again.

The wounds went deeper than surface. More than anything else—except maybe Mystique in limbo—it was the look on Rogue's face that night that really troubled him.

"So," she said now. "Get over it already."

He stared in disbelief. "What?"

"She ain't dead—"

"Oh, great! Let's have a nice family hug, then, huh? All is forgiven!"

She crossed her arms angrily and averted her face.

"You're right," he said, his voice calmer now. "She's not dead. I got over that. I understand that all you did was destroy any chance we had of getting her back from whatever trap Apocalypse put her in. All you did was make sure she's still out there somewhere, stuck. Maybe kind of how Mesmero kept you stuck in your own head."

She looked back at him.

"All you did was get revenge."

"Wasn't just about that," she protested hoarsely.

"Whatever it was—how much better did it make you feel, _mein schwester_?"

When she didn't say anything—just stared at the sheets—he figured he'd made his point. Then she glanced up, her head defiant, the gleam in her eyes vicious, as she spread her arms to either side. "_This _much…_mein bruder."_

* * *

Adjusting the lenses of his binoculars, Remy panned into the room where three boys were congregated, their blank faces focused on the big screen television. He took a quick glance at the TV and snorted. Baywatch. Of course.

He leapt from his perch on the stony wall and made his way across the grounds, stepping quick and light, careful to avoid tripping the sensors and tipping off the security cams. One of the benefits of working with Magneto had been the man's impressive ability to acquire the floor and security plans of places such as, say, the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. As Magneto had been pretty adamant in the Acolytes' study of this particular estate, Remy found himself moving now with ease and familiarity.

"Merci bien, Mags," he muttered, closing the distance to the mansion. "Wherever the hell you are."

He soon found himself looking into an empty foyer. Moving further down, he saw an empty kitchen…empty hall…empty den…empty garage.

Empty everywhere.

He considered doubling back to the rec room. Even if the boys went brain dead during Baywatch, commercials might incite their brains to function again and lead to conversations that could possibly leak a few helpful hints for Remy to make use of. He needed to find out where the hell Xavier had gone.

He was on the verge of heading back when his earpiece amplifier caught the sound of muffled voices. He looked up and spotted a weak glow from an upstairs window. Hoisting himself up a nearby tree, he climbed to a high branch overlooking the room and peered in with his binoculars at two of the X-Men.

Finally.

It was Rogue and the blue one called Nightcrawler, and neither looked too happy with the other. He knew their history, their ties, guessed that he was witnessing a family spat. They were, after all, glaring at each other in that truly spiteful way only siblings could pull off. Put him in mind of his own fights with his brother.

"All you did was get revenge."

"Wasn't just about that—"

"Whatever it was—how much better did it make you feel, _mein schwester_?"

He focused on Rogue's bowed head, curious at how subdued she looked. Judging from what he'd seen of her (and this didn't include under-mind-control encounters), she seemed like the reactive type. Then his eyes went to the tray of soup and juice next to her bed, and back again to the face that was even more drawn than the last time he'd seen it.

In Egypt, after Apocalypse had left them all in varying degrees of pain and unconsciousness, it was Wolverine and Sabretooth with their higher recuperative abilities who'd tried to get everyone back on their feet again. Remy could remember resting against a column, waiting with Colossus for Creed to slap the awareness back into Pyro. As Wolverine carried Xavier to the hover chair, fixed courtesy of Magneto, the two leaders had started another discussion about their gaping failure, with shaky clusters of X-Men watching on anxiously.

Remy had made a joke then about everyone taking a Disneyworld vacation, earning a drab look from Colossus before the Russky turned his attention back to the old timers. Man lacked appreciation for humor, and Remy had rolled his eyes at this.

Doing so, he'd spotted the lone figure in the corner of the chamber: Rogue, crouched on the ground, bag-eyed and pinch-lipped, the expression on her face clearly toeing the fine line between sanity and hysteria.

She'd caught him staring, and the look had faded into a tired kind of blank.

It was the same look she wore now, as she sat slumped in her bed peering at her hands. Girl was different, of course—who wouldn't be who'd acted as the vessel for unleashing an ancient evil to plague the earth and all that jazz? But he couldn't help wondering how the X-Men would fare later on, when things got really ugly. Weak wouldn't cut it in life.

Then he saw her head snap up, the anger in her face—and his brow lifted in surprise.

"This much, _mein bruder."_

As her blatant hostility drove the boy out the door, the old adage about making assumptions floated through Remy's mind. He narrowed his gaze, murmuring, "You're one to watch, _cherie_."

So he stayed a little while longer on his tree perch, and it wasn't really about spying on the girl anymore because nothing was happening there except her preoccupation with the food tray. Anyway, he needed time to think up another plan now that the Xavier route was a bust.

A shame. He'd had such high hopes for an amicable professional agreement, involving his breaking-and-entering skills and Xavier's telepathy. He knew from Magneto that Xavier had an underground network, and what underground network wouldn't need a few more of the right kind of people to carry out some slightly shady errands? He knew—again from Magneto—about a little something called Cerebro that gave Xavier one hell of a telepathic boost. Remy was sure he and Xavier both would've more than lived up to each end of the deal.

That Xavier would be willing to deal in the first place was also a sure thing. The man made himself out to be mutantkind's answer to Mother Teresa, but Xavier being the world's biggest brain, his actions likely had more to do with superior reasoning skills than excessive kindness of heart. He took in Wolverine and trusted _les enfants _in his care, managed to recruit Rogue right from under Mystique's nose, offered compromises in the conflict with Magneto to avoid potential messiness, made efforts to welcome Avalanche during his short stint away from the Brotherhood.

All that didn't mean Xavier was Mother Teresa. It meant he was Margaret Thatcher dressed in Mother Teresa's robes.

"Rogue?"

Remy's attention turned to the room again. A girl's head popped in through the door. Thinking back to the file he'd read on the Institute's younger students, he placed her as Magma. The lava kid.

"Hey, Amara."

"Oh, you have it already—I wasn't sure if Kurt brought up the tray. Just came to check." She gave a cheery smile as her head started to disappear.

"Wait," Rogue called, and that was another small shock to Remy. Amara, too, from the look on her face. "Um…any word from the others?"

"Well," Amara said, walking into the room now. "Kurt said Logan thinks they'll be back early tomorrow. And I got to talk to Kitty when she called for the update. She said they should be in by tomorrow night."

"What's she up to?"

"Not much. Hank and the Professor are locked away in that curator's office. Kitty and Jean were sort of mad at first about being left out, but _then—"_

"They remembered they're in Morocco," Rogue said.

"Right. So they went sightseeing a little. And shopping." Amara's smile faltered a bit. "Wish I was there."

"You and me both."

"It's so boring here!" Amara burst out, plopping on the edge of Rogue's bed.

"Where're the other fellas?"

"Except Sam, they're all downstairs drooling at the TV."

"Baywatch marathon?"

"Yeah, and that show's so stupid, but I would've watched with them, except they said I was too noisy and kicked me out! So now I've finished all my homework and even got Kurt to program a training session for me—and then I washed the dishes! Vicky called and asked if I wanted to go to the mall, but I can't because Logan and Miss Monroe left orders that we shouldn't leave the Institute unless it's an emergency!"

"Nervous breakdowns count, right?"

"Not funny!" But the younger girl was smiling again.

Remy himself couldn't help the half-grin that came to his lips. Only a few minutes ago he'd seen Rogue seemingly pissed to the limit, and now she was making wry cracks to get one of the tweenies to feel better? Either she must've been pretty bored herself or she was just one highly unpredictable fille. Probably both. In his experience, there was nothing more volatile than a bored fille.

"Ooh! Hey, can I borrow this?" Amara picked up a book with a title that he couldn't make out. It was massive and hardcover, not the kind of reading he'd have figured for a kid her age.

"Sure. They got the movie downstairs, case you'd rather watch it."

"I know, I've seen it six times. Twice in one sitting once. I've read the book three times, too. Did you know there's a sequel?"

"That you read twice already?"

"No, just once. It's not the same when the original author dies and a total poser comes along to ruin the vision, you know? I can read this over and over and never get tired, but the sequel? Well—" And here Amara made a dramatic face. "'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!'" And, clutching the book tight, stormed out of the room in long strides before slamming the door. A second later, her head popped back in. "Thanks, Rogue." Then she was gone for real.

He saw Rogue shake her head over the younger girl's antics before, seconds later, an actual honest-to-God smile spread over her face—the first of its kind that Remy had ever seen on her.

It suited her, and he was leaning in for a closer look when an owl appeared out of nowhere, making all kinds of flapping noise and landing on Remy's perch to stare with accusing eyes. He cursed it quietly, hoping it hadn't attracted Rogue's notice.

When he looked in again, she was getting to her feet. "Damn," he muttered, glaring at the owl that only blinked back. He scampered back, preparing to jump down, but stopped when he saw that Rogue was standing, yes, and slowly walking in the direction of the window, yes, but she wasn't _looking _at the window.

She stopped near her bookshelf, staring down at the small monkey sitting there. Furtively, her face turned to the closed door, and he knew the expression she wore for exactly what it was.

Embarrassment.

When she snagged the monkey and stumbled back to the bed quick as she could, hiding her friend under her pillow, he swallowed a laugh.

The brooding tough girl who'd taken out the X-Men, the Brotherhood, and the Acolytes in one fell swoop was a secret stuffed-animal lover?

Seemed so ridiculous it was almost appealing.

That little grab-and-run seemed to wear her out. Minutes later, her eyes drifted shut. Once they did, Remy turned his away. On his _tante's _list of things that proper gentlemen never did (a list she'd made sure Remy and his brother were well acquainted with) was one about always respecting the privacy entitled to a lady.

Thief that he was, Remy still tried to follow that rule to the letter. And maybe she didn't fit the typical mold of a lady, but Rogue was alone and asleep—nothing more private than that.

Saluting the owl, he bounded down the tree and away from the building, satisfied with the information gleaned from the eavesdropping session.

Xavier was away. Xavier would be back. The plan was still solid. Rogue was a strange girl.

That last bit really had nothing at all to do with anything, except maybe ease the disdain he felt for the kids who called themselves X-Men. What kind of sorry name was that, anyway? But at least now he knew there was someone on the team who could stand up to a few of life's knuckle punches. Made the thought of associating himself with them easier to take and…

And what the hell was that? Remy stopped mid-step, eyeing a streak of something in the night sky. Too distant, too small to make out, but he knew it wasn't a bird, a plane, or Superman. No. It was something else. Something his gut knew instinctively.

A snag.

Before he could track its movement, the streak suddenly faded from view.

Definitely a snag.

* * *

If he kept his gaze to the stars, he could almost pretend he was back in Kentucky, lying on that huge old flat slab of stone that was so fitting for stargazing—but only for one person. Made for many a squabble among the Guthrie clan, because after the first time Sam was caught napping there one warm and quiet summer night, each and every one of his little brothers and sisters just had to follow suit and stake a claim on the rock.

He wondered which of them now had taken over his spot. Paige, probably, since after him she'd spent the most time there. He hadn't minded that too much. She was small enough to share, and didn't yawn or fidget when he pointed out the constellations and told the stories behind them.

Her favorites were Orion and Scorpio—because they were Sam's favorites, too. Papa had told him the story when he was nine, about the mighty hunter running from a little ol' scorpion, and Sam had kept it in his head because it was the only story he'd heard then where the good guy didn't win. When Papa showed him in the course of that year how the chase played out in the night sky, Sam's interest grew into a hobby. The summer after that, he slept his first night on the rock.

He closed his eyes now, imagined he was there. Freshly mowed grass pricked his neck and arms (nothing at all like that cool smooth stone), but it was quiet enough and not so cold that he couldn't fool himself.

If he were back in Kentucky right now, dinner would be over and Mama'd be resting in the living room with the others tending to the table clearing and dishwashing. Then they'd go out to the barn to settle things for the night—except Jeb. He'd probably be skipping pebbles on the lake, trying to break Sam's skip-record of fourteen.

Sighing, Sam opened his eyes and sat up.

So he was homesick. Nothing new there, since so was every other body in that mansion, far as he reckoned. It didn't mean he really agreed with some of the things 'Berto said.

None of the X-Men could turn back now. The world knew them for mutants, they couldn't just go home. And maybe Jamie or Amara or the other kids would have it okay if they took a break—but they chose to stay, and their parents weren't complaining. Neither were Sam's. It wasn't their style to avoid the rough patches. Sometimes you needed to get through them to find the nicer clearing waiting just ahead.

Right now, rough patch meant keeping a low-profile. It didn't mean hiding. The Morlocks were hiding, and that was just putting off public reaction, because how long would they really be able to stay under? If it was gonna be hard no matter what, might as well get it over with sooner rather than later.

The X-Men were doing something different from the Morlocks. Sure, they were all mutants in one big mansion and they tried to keep their powers secret for a while, but they lived alongside regular humans. They tried to make it as normal folks. So it _was different…wasn't it?_

He puffed out a breath in frustration. Gotta accept the gray in life, Papa liked to say.

Standing, brushing the grass off his pants, Sam decided this was one of those grays. And more thinking wouldn't suddenly change it into black or white.

He started to make his way back through the grounds. It was a long walk—he'd wandered pretty far to find a place empty and wide enough to make for decent stargazing. He could use his powers to make the trip shorter, but he wasn't up to that just then. Plus, walking usually cleared his head, the times when it was full enough to need clearing.

"Fine night for a walk, anyway," came the voice just behind.

Whirling, he saw a man approach. The look on his face was bland—and Sam wasn't about to wait for an evil smile or scowl to form. He launched into the air. Fifteen seconds tops to get to the mansion from here—

And he was somewhere around five before something somehow dragged him back.

"Stay for a chat, will you?"

"Let go!"

"As you say," the man said, then closed his eyes. "Just give me a minute…"

Sam passed out.


	5. Five

**- FIVE -**

Two sixteen in the morning was the right time for dreams. For most normal people around the world, from the German countryside to right here in New York, it was a widely accepted time for rest. The ideal time for dark and quiet and covers and beds and, most of all, sleep.

"So, here's what I'm thinking."

It wasn't a time for him to be in the security room with a lukewarm cup of coffee that wouldn't really do anything to keep him up unless he used it to splash his face.

"The Professor left us kind of on our own, right? No Ororo or Hank or Logan. Not even Scott."

Not a time to be sitting in the task chair slowly losing all feeling in his butt, legs, and feet.

"No 'fense or anything, you know? 'Cause you're doing okay."

Contemplating the half-eaten donut that was slowly growing stale, wondering if he was getting the hang of the coffee-and-donut-waiting game, and if that meant he could consider a future career as a policeman.

"With some help—and that's just my point. The Professor would've left someone else back with you, unless he knew you wouldn't really need it, right? He knew you already did have help, get what I'm saying?"

Tuning out Bobby's endless monologue on—what was he saying, anyway?

"And I don't mean Rogue. Sure, if she weren't sick, then there'd be two of you in charge and things would be hunky-dory. At least, if you're talking to each other again."

Kurt blinked at the donut, the coffee, the monitors, Bobby's blurry-looking face.

"But she is sick, so there isn't really anyone else to help—except me. And the Professor knew that. He knew you and me could hold down the fort."

Still blurry.

"I mean, look at us now—working side by side, _totally _focused on finding a possible intruder. And even if there really is nothing, still—we're handling it, right? We're ready. We're in the zone."

Still blurry.

"So what do you think, man?"

Still blurry, but what the heck. "Sure." Kurt nodded slowly, his head feeling bowling ball heavy. "Sounds…_ja_."

"Yeah?"

"_Ja."_

Bobby looked pleased, so that was probably the right thing to say. "That's what I thought." He stood. "I'm gonna go grab some reinforcements. What do you want?"

"Coffee. More."

So he was gone. And Kurt let the bowling ball on his neck rest on the desk, just for a few short moments. Very short. Not even a minute, really, because he was counting it…

And…

There.

Not even a minute. The bowling ball lifted, looked to the monitors. Still clear. Bowling ball rested again.

And…

There.

Lifted, saw Bobby on the kitchen monitor. He was sitting on the counter, eating—no, _finishing _a hoagie. That was quick.

Kurt decided not to rest his head again.

When the hoagie was gone, Bobby turned to the plate with the cheesecake slice that was supposed to be saved for Hank. Halfway through it, a blond man Kurt had never seen before suddenly walked into the kitchen.

_"Was_?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

Still there.

Kurt groaned. This was _not _the time at all for this.

* * *

Prowling for hours around the entire estate looking for trouble, and nothing—but the minute he tried a cigarette break?

Remy hadn't even taken a drag yet before the sound of alarms reached his ears. He was near enough to the mansion to hear because after coming up empty on his long search, he'd given up as a lost cause his preemptive strike plan against whatever was coming, and figured he might as well wait close to the mansion for things to play out there.

He hadn't been waiting long.

Sprinting now towards the noisy building, his eyes fell on the front doors that were wide open—and surprisingly still attached to their hinges. A polite intruder? Remy ran inside, found the answer to that question in the foyer that was trashed enough to put the Brotherhood hall to shame. The security cam there was crumpled, and he spent a brief moment wondering if that had been destroyed manually or by concussive force. Manual meant super strength, concussive meant a number of things. And while it'd be a bitch to take on super strength, someone with concussive powers had the advantage of distance fighting, a headache all on its own.

So the X-pups were probably screwed either way.

The alarms quieted suddenly and as they did, Remy bounded up the stairs. He would've headed left if movement to his right hadn't caught his eyes. He ran towards it, stopping at the corner of the hall. Peeking around, he took in the sight of a man walking casually towards the other end of the corridor. Halfway through, the man paused, tipping his head.

"Ah, what have we here?" he said, and Remy realized he'd been made.

He cursed his lack of foresight in the second it took to slip out his bo staff and cards. Telepaths normally couldn't detect him unless he let them, so the man must've had some kind of heightened awareness on the sensory level. Like Sabretooth and Wolverine—and damn, this would be a long night.

On the verge of stepping out for the confrontation, Remy took another second to charge the cards between his fingers. At the same moment, a group of kids suddenly turned the corner at the other end.

Five—no—two kids: Berserker and the Multiple boy, with three of his copies dragging Berserker along. They all stopped short when they saw the man, whose stance remained indifferent even when another seven Multiples appeared out of thin air and Berserker started juicing up on voltage.

"Been expecting you lads," said the man, and Remy realized his mistake. He was still unnoticed.

The pups were another story.

"Get outta here, Jamie," Berserker said, and when none of the Multiples moved, he yelled, "Go!"

"No way!"

"We're not leaving you!"

"Yeah!"

"We can help, Ray!"

"Let's cream him!"

Remy crouched and moved forward, keeping his eyes on the currents spreading out from Berserker's body as the boy stepped towards the man. "Get back, then!"

"A fine show, really," said their attacker. "Pity it's all pointless, though."

Electricity shot out. The room went bright as the currents converged and landed, sparking against the man—who stood unfazed. Remy looked closer, saw the layer surrounding him. Some kind of force shield. Plasma, probably TK.

Remy's tranq gun would be useless, then, but that was fine. His powers would serve.

Crouching, he placed a hand to the rug lining the hall, pouring a charge that stopped just past where the man stood. Pups weren't standing on the charged parts, but they'd get hurt just the same if they didn't scram. Remy held it, watching, waiting until he saw Berserker's eyes fall on the glowing rug. Confusion for a moment, then vague understanding. Keeping the currents flowing, Berserker backed up, herding the Multiples behind him.

"Run!" the boy shouted.

Remy let go.

BOOM!

Typical thing to expect after an explosion sent someone crashing against the wall—hard enough to crack it, even—was to see him get knocked out.

Remy almost gaped now, seeing his expectations ruined. The man on the floor was dazed on his knees, from the kind of charge that usually sent a person to la-la-land for a good while at least.. But _this_ bastard was awake enough, probably not even scratched thanks to that shield. And stretching a hand in the direction of the kids—dumb move, they were long gone. He was more disoriented than he looked, then, and Remy felt a moment's placation.

That dissipated when he saw Berserker and a handful of Multiples reappear around the corner, careening through the air.

"Nice trick," the man told them, gesturing again. "Now for mine."

The kids landed in a toppled heap on the floor. Before they could struggle to sit up on their own, an invisible force separated them, had them hovering in a small ring in the middle of the hall. The man flexed his fingers in a small gesture—and the ring of kids collided brutally against each other.

They fell to the floor, where all the Multiples lying prone faded away, one by one, until only Berserker was left, completely unmoving.

The man didn't spare him a second glance as he took to the air and flew off.

Remy made his way towards the boy to check for injuries. Steady pulse, breathing regular, nothing seriously broken. Probably a few sprains and a mild concussion, but Remy could do nothing for him or anyone else by just sitting here, so he stood and backtracked to the second floor stairs, passing it to head down the other side of the hall.

Still quiet and neat on this end, and the girls' wing probably always was compared to where the boys stayed, but maybe now it wasn't just because girls in general were quieter and neater. Maybe the _putain_ hadn't gotten here yet.

Remy picked up his pace at the thought. The alarms or the other pups would've woken Rogue by now. He was about as sure of that as he was of having ten fingers. Then again, he was nothing if not familiar with the improbables in life. So if there was a slim chance—well, he'd just double check now. Because if they hadn't woken her, Remy would.

* * *

It was a hawk that would've been like any other hawk except for the look in its cruel golden eyes. Rogue sat in her bed, waiting. When it swooped down again for another peck, she sprang, grabbing its legs. Without really thinking, her hands twisted.

The bird screamed.

Horrified, Rogue dropped it. As it fumbled on the floor, pathetic and broken, the mangled legs started to crumble away. The screams intensified.

"I'm sorry," Rogue whispered.

Up to its wings in crumbled pieces. More screaming.

"I'm sorry!"

To its neck. The screams filled Rogue's ears, brain, entire body.

"Please stop!"

Total shambles, and as she stared at the bits of its faces that lay in small crumbs, the screaming continued from Rogue's own throat.

"NOOOO!"

Hands grabbed her.

"Rogue, wake up!"

She opened her eyes. In the dark blur of her room, two faces peered at her. Amara and 'Berto? Was she still dreaming, then, because what the hell were they doing in her room?—and the screaming was still blasting through her ears—

Then she realized what the screaming actually was, and awareness hit her like an anvil, had her kicking off her covers, standing—

She almost keeled over before 'Berto grabbed hold of her arms.

"Whoa," she mumbled, then added, "Comm. badge." Because training was kicking in something fierce despite the nausea.

Amara took it from the dresser, looked at Rogue again.

"Door," she mumbled again, and since moving furtive and quick was a little beyond her means just then, Rogue aimed for just trying not to stumble and slow 'Berto down—sadly, not the best of efforts, given her pounding head and shaky feet.

Rogue tried to think past the clamor of the alarms and her own mind. The other two were looking anxious and she didn't blame them. They needed help, they needed cover, they needed to get the hell out of this room—and if they happened to stumble into the intruder, they needed a better plan than contaminating him with with her germs.

The alarms died down. Rogue tensed, took a breath, told herself to calm the hell down as the door opened. If anything was behind it, her fingers were ready to grab and latch.

Clear.

Another breath, and they were creeping down the hall, 'Berto still helping her along.

"Remember the drill," she whispered.

"Sub-basement?" he said, looking even more unsure. Amara seemed even more nervous. Again, Rogue couldn't blame them, but she was starting to get pissed. If she weren't sick—

But she was so thoroughly not in any condition to take anyone down right then, especially with two junior recruits to protect. And that was almost a bad joke, since one of those junior recruits was the only thing keeping her footing steady just now.

Rogue pressed on the badge. "Nightcrawler." Only silence. "Come in, Nightcrawler." Silence. "Kurt?"

God, where was he?

"Sub-basement still?" said Amara.

Rogue kept her eyes on the corner of the hall. Left turn there would lead them to the end of the corridor where the elevators waited to take them three floors down. She could at least wait to look for Kurt until after she got Amara and 'Berto on the damn thing, to relative safety.

"For you two, yeah."

Amara frowned. "What abou—no!"

"You can't even walk straight!" 'Berto was digging his heels in a little, and she had to push to move them along.

"Quit talkin' so loud."

"This is stupid," he muttered, stopping completely now, but that was okay since they'd reached the T-section. She'd push him to the elevators if she had to. Or try to push him, at least.

She attempted the Scott voice-of-reason. "'Look, you guys—"

"I'm not going."

"Me, neither."

She attempted the Logan glower. "Listen up—"

"They're my friends and teammates too, Rogue."

"They need all of our help. So do you."

Her face fell. Dammit. This _was _stupid. "Aw, screw it," she said. "C'mon."

With the two of them on either side of her now helping to drag her, they zoomed past three halls in the amount of time it took them to cover that first one. When it was starting to feel like a roller coaster ride, making her stomach turn and her head spin, they heard steps approaching on a fast run. Left to stand on her own again, Rogue shook the added dizziness away as she went into battle stance.

No hiding now, so strategy time.

Amara was fired up, 'Berto looked ready to punch a hole in the wall, and she—well, the only action she was probably capable of at this point was puking, but element of surprise was a peachy thing, wasn't that one of the Professor's favorite sayings? And vomit would definitely be unexpected.

Rogue was giving the plan serious thought when a sudden explosion rocked their feet.

"Came from the boys' wing," 'Berto said, taking off—

Only to collide around the corner with a small form that fell backwards. "Oof!"

"Jamie!" said Amara, powering down.

"A dupe," 'Berto said, helping him up. "He didn't multiply when we hit."

"Who's with you?" Rogue said.

"Bobby and Kurt," Jamie replied, as they followed him.

"Where's Jamie-O?" 'Berto asked.

"Original Jamie went to get Ray."

"How 'bout Sam?"

"We can't find him."

Rogue saw the simultaneous sag in all three shoulders. "We'll find him, guys," she wanted to say, but that was bullcrap. So instead, in the quiet that followed, she asked Jamie, "Kurt figure out who's behind all this?"

"No. Bobby said he was in the kitchen when the guy came out of nowhere and Kurt saved him just in time and _then _they ported to my room so I could get everyone together." Jamie took a breath. "We're all supposed to go to the sub-basement."

From the corner of her eye, Rogue saw 'Berto and Amara wincing a little at the comment. She squelched the urge to give them a look. The call had been hers to make, after all, and she'd make the same choice given another chance. Although Scott would probably give a mini-lecture when he got the briefing, call her judgment lame again, like that time when she and Kitty had skipped class to track down the Brotherhood.

But she'd shaken off his remark then, and she could do it again. Just thinking this gave her something to look forward to, boosted her energy, and she—

Blinked when Jamie suddenly vanished in front of her. Great, she was hallucinating now?

"Jamie!" cried Amara.

Okay, the others had seen it. No hallucination, so he really had gone poof and that meant—

"No!" 'Berto looked about ready to go on a tear when they heard someone else shouting in the distance.

Bobby. And he sounded even more pissed than 'Berto.

They followed the noise on a run, Rogue falling back a bit. She saw Amara and 'Berto stop completely, staring at something down the hall. When she caught up, she found Bobby, Kurt, and an unconscious Jamie rapidly approaching them on an ice slide.

Behind them in the distance was a massive wall of ice coating the east wing elevators. A hole was starting to show in the middle of that wall, a hole that grew larger and larger as Rogue watched.

"Hurry!" Bobby shouted.

'Berto used one hand to grab Rogue and another to clutch Amara by the waist, then made a jump that landed all three of them on the slide. Soon as they were on, he set them both down. Rogue went to stand by Kurt as he stood clutching the side of his chest. "What happened?"

"He threw me against the ceiling."

"Anything broken?"

"Nein, just bruised ribs." He grimaced. "I think."

Amara and 'Berto knelt by Jamie. "Where's Ray?" asked Amara.

"Caught," Bobby said. "Jamie came running up a minute ago to tell us that, and then he just—passed out."

"Psychic blast," Kurt said. "Intruder was right on his heels."

"He almost got me, too, but Kurt ported him into the elevator. And then I did _that." _Bobby turned his head in the direction of the icewall. "But it won't last long—the guy melts ice," he added, his face sour.

Bobby's slide whooshed past the mansion doors.

"Takin' the fun outside?" Rogue said.

"We can't stay in there," Kurt replied. "The sub-basement's out—we'll just be like sitting geese waiting for him to catch us."

"Ducks," Bobby corrected, and went on, "He was flying when he found us, and he messed up the elevator circuits when we tried to leave. We figure he's a telepathic teke, like Jean."

"Only stronger," Kurt said. "Like Jean times ten."

"Plus he can melt ice," Bobby said again.

"Wait," Amara said. "That sounds…I know this."

Rogue frowned, struggling to think with her achy head. "Me, too."

"Where have I heard…?" Amara said, looking at Rogue, and they stared at each other intently as Bobby's ice slide came to stop on the edge of the estate woods. In her peripheral vision, Rogue saw the three boys watching them and shrugging at each other, before 'Berto slung Jamie over his shoulder and stepped near Kurt, who ported out with the three boys.

Reappearing alone a moment later, he sighed. "Still with the staring contest?" he said, then put a hand on each of their shoulders.

Rogue found herself standing on the banks of the lake that was well on the other side of the estate from where they'd left the ice slide. The decoy was obvious, but it would buy them a little time to think, at least. And she needed to think, because the others had triggered something that was important to remember.

The moon reflected on the lake was wavy and mesmerizing. Frowning at it, Rogue was able to push aside the pounding in her forehead and focus.

"Are you guys on something?" Kurt said. She would've rolled her eyes if she weren't so busy using her energy to scratch the itch in her brain. Dammit, just _think._

And then Amara gasped just as Rogue's face cleared, and they looked at each other again, voicing one word in a single breath. "Kitty!"

"She swore me to secrecy because Jean didn't want her telling anyone," Amara said. "But it's okay to tell now, right? Since we're under attack and all."

Rogue nodded tiredly. With the adrenaline rush gone and the important brain itch scratched, her body was again free to feel the joys of a virus. "If you don't," she said blearily, "I'm gonna have to."

"Then I will," Amara said, turning eagerly to the others. "So, this guy. He's telepathic, telekinetic—"

"And can melt ice," Bobby said.

Amara glared. "So can I," she said. "He's not so special."

"You didn't see him fighting," he muttered.

"Aw, let her finish, Bobby," cut in 'Berto. "Else she won't tell us at all."

The throbbing in Rogue's head ended in an abrupt rush of double vision. "Intruder's a blond kid?" she asked Kurt, staving off dizziness by rolling her head back. Felt so _heaaaaavy._

"Ja, how'd you know?"

"Because the Professor's son's a blond!" Amara cried, triumphant as her statement earned three pairs of popped-out eyeballs.

Rogue snorted a little at that, then slowly opened and closed her own eyeballs to work out their fever burn. When her head rolled back again, she grimaced at finding her vision spotty. Well, just one spot, really, but it was irritating. Wouldn't stop moving.

"And he's telepathic, telekinetic, and pyrokinetic."

Then Rogue froze—it wasn't a spot in her eyes. It was in the sky.

"And he hates the Professor, which is probably why he's here. To get revenge through us."

The boys stared slack-jawed at Amara, while Rogue pointed to the figure in the sky that was hurtling directly towards them. "Uh, guys?" she said, squinting with strained eyes. "Think I found Sam."

They all watched as he closed the distance pretty damn fast, probably enough to make a crater. What the hell was the boy playing at? Rogue turned her gaze away, looked with blurry eyes for some cover for them—and saw the forest shake. No, wait. Not the forest. Something _in _the forest, moving closer—and as she squinted again, she realized they had human forms. Human forms that she knew and had shared a house with once for a few short weeks.

Crap.

"Uh, guys?"


	6. Six

**- SIX -**

"We got more company," Rogue said, and Kurt whipped his head from the sky to find her pointing to the woods.

Avalanche and the Blob were stepping out from behind the cover of trees. And the Brotherhood never looked friendly at the best of times, but now—now their faces were positively uninviting. "What _is _this?" Kurt asked, watching Avalanche stretch a hand towards them.

Cracks in the moving ground sent everyone scampering. Kurt ported to a rock, trying to get his bearings. What beef did the Brotherhood have now? Where were the rest of them? And why—why—_why _couldn't they have waited to settle it until daybreak, or at least until the first intruder had been dealt with?

"Kurt, watch out!"

Kurt turned his head just in time to dodge a collision with Cannonball, who still managed to clip him anyway. Enough to throw Kurt to the ground, reeling. He saw not exactly stars but swirls, so that when he shook his head to clear it the world spun in interesting ways.

"What in the hell—" Rogue's shout was nearby, and in another moment she was at his side, helping him up, glaring at Cannonball as he turned in mid-flight. He zoomed back in and Kurt waited for another attack, but the other boy suddenly veered away, to where 'Berto was trying to lead the Blob into a hole that Amara had burned in the ground.

'Berto didn't have a chance. Cannonball blasted into him, used him to burrow a trench in the grassy banks that almost ran the length of the lake. As Cannonball launched away again, Kurt ported himself and Rogue to 'Berto. His body had depowered from its solar form. He lay in the ditch, limp and bruised and just completely out of it.

"Oh, man," Kurt said.

"David—the Professor's son—his TP's supposed to be really strong so—"

"Mind control for Sam and the Brotherhood. _Ja_, got that." Kurt looked to the skies again, followed Cannonball as he streaked to where Bobby was trying to fend off an earthquake while keeping an eye on Cannonball's approach.

Kurt ported again, this time landing on Cannonball's back. Lacking a better plan, he wrapped his hands around the boy's head to cover his eyes.

Bad move. Cannonball screeched to a total halt, sending Kurt flying. He tried to port into the lake and missed, crashing into the forest instead, where tree leaves cushioned the impact—before he fell through them a moment later, onto hard branches. When those broke, he dropped again, landing finally on solid ground that took the air out of his lungs.

Pain. Pain everywhere.

He couldn't try to stand just yet, but he could hear the battle still raging so he sat up and ported to the banks of the lake, just in time to see Bobby evade a series of falling trees and aim a stream of thick ice towards Avalanche. He kept the stream going, long enough to finish building an ice casing trapping Avalanche that looked about the size of the iceberg the Titanic had hit.

Kurt struggled to stand, as Bobby bridged an ice slide that took him near Amara. She was throwing huge fireballs to keep Cannonball at bay, didn't notice the Blob coming up behind her. A sheet of ice formed on the grass underneath the Blob's feet. He slipped, flailed his arms, and Kurt waited for the ground to shake from his fall—but it didn't happen. Instead, the Blob righted himself, stomping with one foot that cracked the ice to pieces. With a glower, he started towards Bobby and Amara again.

Just as a pair of small pale hands grabbed onto one of the Blob's bare arms.

He struggled against Rogue, trying to throw her off, using his other arm to try to wrench her away, but she somehow kept her grip, even when the Blob purposely toppled himself over on the side of his body that she was clutching. Another few seconds, and the Blob stopped struggling. Another second after that, and Kurt started to panic, trying to work up the energy to port. Then the Blob twitched, and Kurt saw small hands underneath the massive frame. He sighed in relief as those hands pushed the Blob off.

Rogue wobbled herself up from the grass in the same moment Kurt managed to port himself to her side.

"Y'alright?" she said.

_Nein. _Very much _nein_, but he gave her a thumbs-up sign because while there was pain everywhere, the odds had just gotten better. "Two down—"

"Two to go," Amara said, running up to them with Bobby just behind. They pointed to the sky, where Cannonball hovered in wait for another figure to join him.

It was the figure of the person responsible for the entire mess. The entire mess that should've been everyone's bedtime. The bedtime that looked like a long way to go, with Cannonball and the Professor's son now heading towards everyone in two parallel streaks of trouble.

Trouble that pulled up short suddenly.

Amara was in lava form, Bobby in ice, Rogue was glowering, and Kurt was hoping for once in his life that he looked like the demon the German villagers had named him all those years back. Right now, he needed to be the scary monster. Right now, he really needed to believe that the four of them looked intimidating enough to be the reason for the Professor's son and Cannonball delaying their attack.

"It isn't quite what you think, you know," the Professor's son said. "It's not all about revenge. I'm also here to help a little, believe it or not."

"Ja," Kurt said. "Because there's nothing more helpful than an attack at two in the morning."

"You people leave yourselves wide open to unexpected visitors. One of the drawbacks of being an X-Man, isn't it?"

"We make up for it in fun by kickin' their ass," Rogue said.

"So I hear," he said, and Kurt had only ever seen Magneto show this much indifference to Rogue's death glares. "I suppose you're itching for a demonstration—Rogue, is it?"

Kurt's fur prickled. David's telepathy could've easily pulled their names out with a surface probe, but Kurt got the feeling that there was more to it than that. The man was too familiar in talking to them, too much at ease.

"Rogue, the reckless one. Foster sister to Kurt Wagner, also called Nightcrawler—the funny one. Or at least, tries to be." He looked at Kurt. "If you promise to keep your friends in line, I'll clear a few of those suspicions. And the name's Lucas, so you know. David's the little shit I try to keep off my shoes."

Rogue gave Kurt a confused frown.

"Ah, Kitty left that part out? Well, maybe she's not aware of it herself." Lucas shrugged. "It's a complicated thing. One I can acquaint you with if we try for a civilized chat, with drinks and crackers and all that rubbish."

Kurt returned Rogue's confused frown with a puzzled stare of his own. Was this guy loopy?

"Close enough," Lucas said. "Although the old man just recently provided me with something of a cure."

Rogue snapped at this, breaking eye contact with Kurt to glare at Lucas again. "Okay, this ain't a chattin' session! What exactly do you want here, Lucas or David—or Larry or Moe or _whoever _the hell you are!"

"What I want and what I need to do here are two separate things." He lowered himself to the ground, stepped towards them in the typical hands-up-and-open, mean-you-no-harm way. Kurt fought the urge to take a cautious step back.

"I need you to think outside the box," Lucas said. "Outside one particular foolish box of a place you all sequester yourselves in. Just for a minute, if you can, try to think what your life might be like if you weren't X-Men. Think how much different everything would be—how much better, maybe. Won't be hard for you, will it, Rogue?"

"Shut your hole."

"I think not, lass. I think you rather like it when I say these things. Maybe you're harder to read than most, but you project enough of bits, do you know that? I can catch strays of what you've crammed inside your head, waiting to burst out after all this time at the Institute."

Catching the fury in her face, Kurt limped between Rogue and Lucas, saying, "Everybody wishes things were different sometimes. What's your point?"

"Merely that it _can _be different. All you have to do is make the decision, Wagner."

When Bobby and Amara shared a baffled look, Lucas turned to them. "Think a bit," he said. "You're all teenagers who only came here to learn about your powers. But what is it you're really doing here when you step inside that Danger Room, wearing uniforms that so proudly brandish the X-insignia? What kind of teaching do you think it's truly all about, when your Professor and the rest of his staff train you to fight against groups like the Brotherhood and people like Magneto?"

Amara and Bobby had powered down, and they were all quiet now as they chewed on everything Lucas was saying. Some of it…made sense, actually.

"They're programming you to be mindless soldiers, you see? You're only bloody pawns, learning about your powers so he can use them in this idiotic mutant war." Kurt found himself nodding. "It doesn't have to be this way. You don't have to live like this. Believe me, there are places other than here where young mutants find help and have the chance to live the lives they want without having to hide _or _fight."

"Where are they?" Amara said.

"Everywhere. Just look around. If you want, I can take you to one spot I know. It's not too far from here, in Massachusetts. If you don't like it, you can just hop on a bus or the train and come back here. No strings, right?"

"We leave whenever we want?" said Bobby.

"Whenever you want, however way you like, wherever you'd like to leave for." He smiled. "Give it a try, why don't you?"

It made so much sense to Kurt now. They really were all just too young for this. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had plain old-fashioned fun. Everyone was so jumpy here, things were so gloomy. Compared to that, what Lucas was offering sounded so reasonable, fair…

"Bite me, why don't you?" said Rogue, and then she stepped to Kurt and slapped him before moving on to both Bobby and Amara. "Get it together, guys! He's playin' you!"

_Wrong_. On many, many levels. Rubbing his stinging cheek, Kurt blinked dazedly, not so much from the slap as from the thoughts that had just floated through his brain a second ago.

Lucas was staring at them, amused. "Nice tactic, Rogue," he said. "Bit of an overkill, though."

Kurt scowled. So much for mental defenses, but then again, he never really worked on his the way Rogue did. She'd beefed hers up in added sessions with the Professor because after the Mesmero disaster, she'd been paranoid. A good thing for them now.

"You think you know so much about us," Rogue said, back in a defensive stance. "But you really ain't got a clue, do you? Else you'd've known not to try that trick on the girl who's seen it all before."

As Kurt's brain cleared of Lucas's telepathic lulling, he saw Bobby and Amara shaking off the same and power up again.

Lucas shrugged. "Worth a try, wouldn't you think? Although I can't say I really did my best." He stroked his goatee with one hand. "Reasoned to myself, why deny you lot the chance to demonstrate just how it is you'll kick my ass?" As that same hand made a flinging gesture, knocking everyone to the ground with an almost synchronized thud, he sneered. "And why deny myself what I want—the pleasure of proving just how stupid you little bints are.

Kurt made an effort not to grimace too much as everyone tried to get back up.

"Tell you what," Lucas said. "I'll let your friend Sam over there just play spectator. Should make things a bit less pitiful, wouldn't you say?"

Amara sprang up first, angry flames flicking around her tiny form. She threw a lava blast at Lucas that he deflected with a TK shield. "Don't bore me," he said, before he narrowed his gaze on her.

Just like Jamie near the elevators, she dropped like a potato.

"Watch his psychic blasts," Kurt said, an instant before an unseen force hauled him into the air.

"What was that?" Lucas said. "Afraid of my telepathy? Well, that won't do, will it? Suppose I'll just have to beat you around with plain old telekinetics."

And he went on to do just that, slamming Kurt on the grass over and over until dirt filled his mouth. He spit it out, staring at the streaks of red on it. He hadn't even begun to really register what it was when Lucas hurled him against a nearby tree.

Kurt crumpled to its base. He couldn't breathe right. When he tried to, his back and chest spasmed in pain that made breathing not worth it at all.

Before he passed out, he saw Bobby try to help. Ice shot out, collided with a stream of fire in the air. Bobby pushed with both hands, and maybe he would've gotten somewhere with that move, because the ice pouring out seemed to triple. But Lucas had more than just pyrokinesis to fall back on. When he saw his flames die out, his TK grabbed Bobby and threw him at Rogue.

They crashed into each other, tumbled to the ground, and Kurt used every last amount of awareness he had to port next to them. He crawled to Rogue as she lay groaning.

"Touching, that," Lucas said, hovering above. "You know, if I cross my eyes and tilt my head, I can see the family resemblance. Fascinating, really. You both look a bitlike a pair of feeble losers."

"Rogue…get…Jamie," Kurt rasped, and stretched a hand out to her bare forehead.

* * *

Fur tickled her skin a split second before the familiar wave of disorientation washed over her. Then came the tingly surge of energy, a fleeting image of Jamie, the sharp memory of intense all-body pain, and (strangest of all) the feeling of grass and mud in her mouth.

Rogue shifted away from Kurt's hand. It dropped limply, and as she stared at his bruised and beaten body, the part of her that was him couldn't help remembering Lucas's taunt about being a feeble loser.

She squashed the thought as she got on hands and knees. Down but not out meant there was plenty of surprises left, and from the look on Lucas's face now, Kurt's move had been one hell of a doozy.

He recovered quick enough. "So Furry's spared me the effort of throwing him about some more like a little girl's doll," Lucas said. "Really, though, it's no bother at all to me."

And raised his hands to them again, but Rogue grabbed Bobby and ported out.

They reappeared just outside the mansion's front gates. A still-dazed Bobby stumbled to the wall, leaning against it.

"Stay here," Rogue said, porting out again to find Jamie. He was still lying near the lake, looked for all the world like he was sleeping in peace. That wouldn't last long. In the distance, Cannonball was already flying towards them.

Get Jamie, Kurt had said. Still saying now, in her head. She put a hand on the boy's shoulder and ported them back near the gates. As Bobby approached them, Rogue slid off a glove.

"Rogue?" Bobby said, looking worried.

"Kurt's idea," she said. And not a bad one. She put her bare, warm hand to Jamie's cheek. It was cool, soft and smooth, and she idly hoped her fevered touch wouldn't get him sick later. But the touch didn't last five seconds. And when she took her hand away, the combined energy from both Kurt and Jamie was enough to leave her feeling almost healthy.

Channeling Jamie's powers, she willed copies of herself to pop up. Aiming for five came up four short. Damn. Not that healthy, then, if she could only manage one duplicate.

"Whoa," Bobby said, staring at the new Rogue standing in front of them.

Better than nothing, though, and as she met the dupe's obedient stare, they ported out—the dupe to Lucas, she to Sam.

He was still drifting in the air, trance-like almost, when Rogue jumped on his back.

"C'mon, Sam!" she said as he fought her. "Snap out of it!"

He tried the same move he'd used on Kurt earlier, but Rogue locked her feet across his stomach, managed to stay on. Struggling with him a couple of hundred yards aboveground, she caught the dupe a ways off below, porting around Lucas's attacks. As Sam dropped abruptly to the left, twisting in the air, the rush of dizziness had Rogue wishing she could switch places with her dupe.

But wishing was wasting time, doing nothing to ease the nausea. She burrowed her hold on Sam's collar. "You asked for it," she muttered, inching her fingers up to his exposed neck.

Skin-to-skin…there.

The transfer was longer than it'd been with Jamie. When it was over, Rogue hovered in the air with Sam in her arms, sifting through the new dam of feelings and thoughts. The night sky, the stargazing rock, Orion, the family in Kentucky. Peace, nostalgia, worry, then alarm, anger, fear—and it stopped there. Sam didn't have any memories after that.

Rogue looked to Lucas again. He was having better luck now, with her dupe losing the energy to keep porting away. Probably another few seconds before she was gone. It'd be smarter to save her from winking out. Rogue could use the extra verve her dupe carried.

She ported to where Lucas stood and almost smirked at his double take.

"Trying to impress me?" he said.

"Just wait," she sneered, as her dupe moved to Kurt and disappeared with him in a puff of smoke. Rogue followed an instant later with Cannonball.

When they were all outside the gates again, Bobby met them with a great big sigh of relief. "I thought I was assed out," he said.

"Not yet," she said, propping Sam beside Jamie on the sidewalk. Her dupe placed Kurt next to them, then stepped questioningly up to Rogue.

"Oh, uh…" It was a belated reaction. Dupes weren't brainless, but one-dimensional, and Rogue had sub-consciously produced a copy of herself that didn't seem to have any problems taking orders. Dupe-Rogue was docile, and the idea of that was weirding her out. "Thanks," Rogue said lamely.

Her dupe nodded, took another few steps, and disappeared inside Rogue.

"Whoa," Bobby said again, then asked, "That's it for Jamie's powers?"

"I think so."

"What now?"

Not a damn clue, but mental Kurt was calculating that with three down now and just one to go, the odds kept getting better. Rogue wasn't so sure. "I'll get Amara, 'Berto, and Ray," she said.

Maybe instead of fighting, they could all just skedaddle outta there.

"I'm going with you this time," Bobby said.

"Yeah? And what about them?" She tilted her head to the unconscious trio.

"Exactly! What happens to them _and _me if you get caught, Rogue? What then? I go with you, and it's two against one."

"Which don't mean _squat _if that one person can—without even laying a finger on us—mess with our heads, squash us like ants, and roast us like pigs." Bobby opened his mouth again, but she cut him off. "I won't fight him, Bobby. I'm just gonna get our friends. Then we scram."

"Where will we go?"

She sighed. "We'll figure it ou…" and trailed off at the sound of a car zooming up the road. Headlights followed the sound, and she squinted at the brightness.

Groaning to herself when she realized it wasn't a car, but a jeep.

Lance's jeep.

She shook her head, turned her eyes to the sky. When were they ever gonna catch a break?

"Damn, yo!" Toad said, hopping out once Quicksilver screeched to a stop. "The X-geeks're getting their asses whupped!"

Rogue clenched her hands as Bobby iced up to face the Brotherhood stragglers. "Y'all're late," she said.

"Can't help your friends now," Bobby said. "We already took them out."

Quicksilver rolled his eyes as he approached with the Scarlet Witch. "I wouldn't brag if I were you," he said. "Looks like they took a few of your friends down with them."

"What about that other guy?" Toad said. "Didja get him?"

"Of course not. Why else would they be out here quaking in their pajamas?"

"Wait." Rogue relaxed her fists. "Lucas attacked you, too?"

"Yeah, came by and tried to talk us into coming with him here," Toad said.

"And you turned him down?" Bobby asked, surprised.

Quicksilver scoffed. "Despite what you think, the world doesn't revolve around you people. We got better things to do with our time."

"Yeah," Toad said, nodding distractedly. "And it was just me and Freddie and Lance because Wanda and Pietro were in Chinatown picking up bootlegs and dim sum. And some special hair gel for P—"

"Shut it, Todd," Pietro said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, yeah. Lemme just tell them the part about Lance making a crack in the ground that Freddie pushed the dude into—and that was real nice, y'know? But then he flew out of it, took Lance and Freddie—and locked me in the closet!" Todd made a face. "That was whack, man. I was stuck for hours 'til these two finally got home!"

"We would've been back sooner," Pietro said, "if _someone _hadn't decided to make detours at twenty gazillion punk clubs." He turned to Wanda. "I told you we couldn't leave them alone for too long. See what happens when you don't listen to me!"

"Oh, give it a break already!" she said, and looked at Rogue. "Look, we're here to collect. That's all."

Bobby looked at Rogue. "That's fine," she said. "But to get to your friends, you're gonna have to get past him."

All three Brotherhood members nodded, the gleam in their eyes keen as Todd said, "That asswipe's going down."

* * *

Since the day he learned to control them, Remy relished the use of his mutant powers. But just right then—running through the woods smacking at branches that scratched at his face and tore at his coat, wondering how far he'd have to keep following the sounds of battle until he could actually reach it, hoping he'd get there before it was all over and the next century had come around—just right then, he was really wishing he'd been given the ability to fly instead.

Rogue's room had been empty, not trashed, and when he found the ice slide, he could spot the red herring even before he followed it to where it stopped near the woods. Only doubt was whether the kids were laying a trap or just high tailing it for the nearest safe place.

Then he saw a streak reappear in the sky. When the earth shook a minute after that, Remy hauled ass to find the action.

There were timesavers set up around the estate, a kind of mini shuttle network that helped cut the distance between certain points, and he knew where they were. He also knew the lights and cameras they were equipped with and, unlike the mansion, there weren't any corners or shadows to hide behind in those small transports.

It almost didn't matter anymore now. If he got caught, fine—so long as he got to arrive. Seemed like ages since he'd felt the earth shake and he couldn't really look to the skies for help because the damn trees got in the way. He couldn't care less about getting lost in here—he hardly ever did, and it was almost a knack with him—but he was late, dammit. It was worrying, embarrassing—he should've just used the shuttle and blown out the cameras.

The trees were thinning now, though. Skies were still blocked, true, but in the distance was something that put energy back into his steps, had him mumbling, "_Merci Dieu."_

A clearing.

He'd been running for what felt like hours, but reaching the edge of that clearing felt like bare seconds to him. Anticipation and adrenaline came rushing back. Made him careful again. He stayed behind the line of trees to look out.

In the middle of the grounds was a clear sparkling lake that would've been an ideal setting for calm and quiet—if there was no long and messy trench dug along one side of it, and on the other side of the banks, no pile of fallen, frozen trees and a massive, crusted-up hole.

The Blob was lying on the grass, unconscious. A ways off was a massive block of ice that—Remy peered closer—housed Avalanche? Explained the earthquakes, then.

Remy sighed. He was definitely late. Party was dead now, the others were gone—the kids must've taken off with Lucas right on their heels. Take into account teleportation, ice slides, and telekinesis and they could be anywhere by now.

Remy was alone with the mess, and he was about to creep out to get a better look when something—some_one—_moved in the trench beside the lake.

It was him—the man who'd attacked Berserker and Multiple. He rose slowly, floating up from the trench, staring down at something there.

In another second, Remy knew what it was—the Sunspot kid, climbing out of the dirt and looking vacantly up at the man, who nodded. "Now for the little lass," he said, drifting off to his left.

Sunspot followed, hanging back as the man touched down on the ground again and stepped towards a figure lying prone at their feet. Moments later, Magma sat up stiffly, a la Michael Myers in Halloween.

"That can't be good," Remy said, as the girl got to her feet.

So the man had two of them now. The number of X-pups left to fight was quickly dwindling, and that group was nowhere in sight.

Remy shook his head, dismayed. What the hell had Xavier been thinking leaving them alone like this, with only Nightcrawler to play caretaker and Rogue stuck in bed? Least if the kids had to be on their own, leave behind with them the ones whose powers worked better offensively, like the Cyclops boy and his girlfriend.

Nightcrawler and Rogue—a _sick _Rogue, to boot. What the hell would they do against—

"Hey, schizo! Lookin' for us?"

Remy snapped his head towards the sound, then felt his shoulders lift a bit at the sight of Rogue and the Iceboy.

They stood together side by side, the Iceboy trying to look intimidating, the Goth girl pulling off that cross-me-and-I'll-give-you-your-worst-coma-yet expression. Remy suspected it was a typical Rogue look.

And he'd never been more relieved to see it.

"Welcome back," the man was saying as he flew towards the pair.

A lift of his hand brought Magma and Sunspot flying with him.

"I've been getting to know your chums while you were gone."

"Let them go, Lucas!" Iceboy said.

Lucas? Remy couldn't remember Magneto giving them a file on anyone with that name, so either the man hadn't known or he'd kept the information to himself.

"Keep your drawers on, boy," Lucas said. "I'll let them go—all of you, just as soon as we finish taking a trip together."

And with that, Magma and Sunspot attacked. They swooped down as one, Magma landing on Iceboy's side, Sunspot on Rogue's. Iceboy parried Magma's blasts with his own powers. Ice melted, lave froze—evenly matched as they were, their game could keep on indefinitely, so Remy turned his full attention to the other pair.

And found a surprise there.

Rogue was holding her own. Against Sunspot's solar-powered super-strength, she mixed a feint-and-fight method with a good dose of teleportation that managed to throw off Sunspot's attacks. There was a determination in her face that was reflected in the way she dodged the boy's punches and shrugged off his tackles. She was getting in more than a few hits of her own.

It was just damn pleasing to see.

That Nightcrawler was out of the fight was obvious in Rogue's use of his powers, but it seemed like the girl was more than making up for the loss. That she wasn't feeling her best showed itself in the haggard shadows under her eyes, but her body was moving faster, proving tougher than it would've even if she weren't sick.

Remy wondered whose other powers she'd borrowed, at the same moment he realized his mistake in underestimating a mutation that he'd been both schooled in and schooled by before.

Plenty of fight still left in this battle, then, and he was just starting to wonder what the hell he should do to help when he saw Sunspot land a nasty uppercut that dropped Rogue to the ground.

It was jarring; she was suddenly a small, broken thing to see, lying on that grass. Remy moved towards her without even thinking—

Stopping short when she suddenly faded from sight.

"Another trick?" he heard Lucas say, looking cautiously around as he hovered over where Rogue had lain.

"Keep your drawers on, boy," came the familiar voice. "I'm right here."

That she was. Right behind Lucas, then _on_ him. Her bare hands wrapped around his face, and Remy could see her powers kicking in as the two thrashed in the air—one second, two, three, four…

Then Lucas's TK flung her off him. Rogue sailed through the air in a wide arc that sent her crashing painfully into a thicket of trees—

Near Remy.

Near enough, in fact, that he could see the rips in her clothing that showed cuts and bruises. Her green pajamas looked like they'd been worn through a turf war with the Rippers right after a bar brawl with Sabretooth and a barbecue with Pyro. The thing looked chewed up, spit out, beaten, and then worn again before it was chewed up, spit out, and beaten two times more.

It was a small puzzle to Remy how the _fille_ herself was still conscious.

More than a bit out of it, true, but definitely still awake. She slowly rolled off the muddy patch of leaves, pushing up with an elbow that was scratched up pretty damn bad underneath the massive tear on her sleeves.

He saw her shakily crawl to hands and knees before she stopped moving suddenly. "Shut up," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut and gnashing her teeth. "No, no, no, n—" She clutched her head. "Aw, _hell_."

Again without thinking, Remy ran to her.


	7. Seven

**- SEVEN -**

The night Cody's personality had taken over without really meaning to, she'd let it happen because she hadn't known what the hell was going on back then. But after that first time sitting in the back seat in her own mind, she'd resolved to avoid repeating the experience whenever she used her powers. And while her short time with Mystique had taught her a few things about mental balance (meditation, strange enough, being a hobby of the woman who liked to leave chaos in her wake), it was really in the sessions with the Professor that Rogue found a portion of control over what he called the 'cerebral aspects' of her mutant abilities.

It went a long way to easing her frustration in the lack of control over its physical aspects. Sure, she still had to wear the damn gloves and shy away from touch when she didn't want to use her powers. But the times she did use them, she rarely broke a sweat anymore.

Until now.

She'd once read an Astronomy book when she was eight for a book report in her science class. The picture of a black hole on the cover had caught her interest, and reading the paragraph that talked about how black holes were like vacuums that sucked entire galaxies into its gaping, unknown, forever kind of abyss—she'd wondered with elementary curiosity just how many stars and planets that kind of vacuum could take in before it got full and burst and the universe made up a new vacuum cleaner to take its place.

The memory had stayed with her, left enough of a mark so that when she sat in the study for her first session, listening to the Professor ask how she wanted to deal with the personality fragments absorbed that she couldn't contain peaceably, the image of a black hole instantly popped to mind.

So that's what they'd worked on in that first session, building on it later on her own, as over time her mental abyss sucked in Avalanche, Blob, Sabretooth, Mystique, Juggernaut, Magneto.

Each and every one of them had tried to escape.

The bit of Lucas causing ruckus in her mind now, fighting against the force of the black hole—he was no different.

"You can't stop me, you bloody amateur!" he said, scrambling away from the massive darkness behind him. "I'm a _telepath_—this is _my _domain."

It was a variation of the same old, but he was the son of the most powerful mutant mind alive, so maybe she had to settle this before he could get creative enough to make a real mess.

"This is my head, dumbass. So hush it."

In the real world, she sat herself on the base of a tree to rest her body, while inside her mind she drowned out Lucas's angry shouts with a muzzle. She could see him try to will it away, and maybe eventually he would've gotten it off—but eventually wouldn't help him against the slither of dark vacuum that shot out to grab him and pull him inside.

He broke away from its grasp.

Would've shocked her, but again, this was the Professor's son. She fortified the muzzle around his face, then shaped a jail cell out of the landscape, its bars facing three chairs. Kurt, Sam, and Jamie faded in a moment later, and as they took their seats, they nodded to her.

"Y'all know what to do," she said.

"Sir, yessir!" Jamie said, saluting her.

Her head, her rules, her friends—and at that, she slipped out of the mental landscape and fully back into the real world.

Her attention focused slowly there. First it was the hefty migraine spread around her head. Then the mud and leaves stuck all over her body. A new kind of hurt both hot and cold was starting to really numb her bones. Splinters from broken tree limbs were digging into her arms, side, back, and neck—hell, there was one in her ear. And an unfamiliar hand was hovering just in front of her face.

She had to blink through another bout of blurry vision before she could register that last one.

Yup, that was a hand, all right. A hand wearing tip-less gloves…attached to a brown-sleeved arm…connecting to a broad shoulder…that curved into the neck supporting the head of—

A poker-faced, red-eyed, brown-haired Acolyte.

"Need some help?" Gambit said, offering the one in front of her face even closer—almost to her cheek, in fact.

She geared back, trying not to reel from the wooziness the sudden movement brought on. She managed to glare at him as she shot her own hand forward, the borrowed TK lifting Gambit off his feet. With a harsh gesture, she sent him flying away, but he righted himself mid-air, pushing off with his knees against the tree he should've crashed into.

A quick somersault and he was landing nimbly on his legs in a crouch. "I'm not here to hurt you, Rogue," he said. "I saw you absorb that Lucas homme, I know you got some of his memories. Take a look at those and you'll see."

"Way ahead of you," she said. She knew he wasn't in cahoots with Lucas, but he was still here, lurking around uninvited in the wee hours of the night. "So, what? You're just moseyin' in here like a stray cat lookin' for help? You want I should bring out a milk pan?"

He stood from his crouch and approached her slowly, his hands up. "I want many things, cherie, but I'm afraid now's not the time." He turned his head to the battlegrounds. Rogue knew what was there, had seen Bobby getting double-teamed by 'Berto and Amara. "Icepup's really startin' to sweat out there," Gambit said.

"Don't strain yourself worrying," she said, looking at the trio. "He's getting help, right about—"

A blur of something through the grounds, and suddenly Pietro and Wanda were joining the fray.

"Now."

Gambit turned his eyes back to her, an eyebrow raised. The strange gaze that had seemed so fascinating the first time she saw it was now—in her tired, hurting, pissed-off, thoroughly fed-up state of mind—damn irritating. "Quit starin' and start talkin', Gambit," she growled. "What's your game here?"

"No game. I came to see Xavier. What for," he added, when she opened her mouth, "is between me and him, _oui?_"

"What for I don't really give a crap," she said. "And you probably figured out a while ago that he's not here, so why're you still spying on us?"

He shrugged, half-smirking. "I'm bored?"

The sound of yelling distracted her from a reply. She looked through the trees to see Lucas trying to get a hold of Pietro. Wanda's powers were keeping him at bay, but for how long?

Rogue launched dodderingly into the air, clenching her jaw against the resulting drum concert in her head. Flying would be a tricky thing now, but at least it was better than running.

"Sure you want to be doin' that?" Gambit said, stepping near. "Raw fighting's not gonna take that one down, _cherie_."

"You got any other ideas?"

"Without his TK shield, all I need is a clear shot and we can all call it a night."

The silver gun in his hand seemed to magically appear. Rogue blinked at it, fidgeting. "I don't—"

"It's a tranq gun, Rogue," he said, before the corners of his mouth lifted again. "I ain't such a bastard as that."

The smile on his face was confusing, so she only said, "Give us a few minutes. And don't miss," she added, biting her cheek at the offended look on he gave her.

"You trying to hurt me, river girl?"

"Only if you miss, swamp boy."

As she flew off, it struck her as odd how her body didn't feel so sore just then, or her head so pitiful. Even odder the rush of energy working back into her system. But the oddest thing of all was the hope that she was riding on, the maybe foolish but maybe also reasonable expectation of taking down Lucas.

It had looked pretty near impossible just minutes ago. But with the Brotherhood showing up, and now with Gambit hiding in the wings—and how the hell had Lucas missed him, anyhow?—but that was beside the point.

Right now, they not only had a plan B, but a plan C.

It was buoying, dammit. And flying past the sight of Pietro whipping a tornado around 'Berto was—in a twisted way—helping her optimism. As Pietro's wind tunnel died down, 'Berto dropped to the ground. He was still awake and powered up, but Wanda took care of that soon enough. The blue signature of her hex stream spread over 'Berto as his solar form winked in and out, then disappeared completely, replaced by his normal body.

Rogue landed beside Bobby, used her TK to help deflect Amara's lava blasts. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the hex stream move over the grass, making the green stretch longer and thicker than she'd ever seen. It quickly wrapped 'Berto in a sheath that covered his whole body, but for the nose.

Pietro dumped grass-mummy 'Berto next to Lance's ice casing, saying, "You can keep each other company," before making his way over to Rogue and giving her a smirk.

"What?" he said. "You gonna whine about unnecessary roughness?"

"You hear me complaining?" she said. Maybe 'Berto would later, but a resentful recruit was better than a mind-controlled or kidnapped recruit, so she turned her attention back to Amara, ready to try the psychic blast that Lucas was so fond of using. But Wanda was already aiming her hands at lava blasts that were about to crash right into them. Surrounded in blue hexes, the blasts paused in the air before they veered around, headed back to Amara.

It didn't hurt, but it looked like it stunned the girl, enough to give Pietro time to swoop up and punch her out. She dropped to the floor limply, Pietro standing over her without a trace of a burn on him. At his speed, the boy could probably withstand zipping through a burning building. Rogue could see on his face now an expression that was awful close to smug.

"Save your gloating for later," she said, "after—"

"You take me down?" said a voice behind them. "Never happen."

Abruptly she was knocked forward, bruising her face against the ground. Bobby fell the same way nearby, and she saw pieces of his ice form cracking. Could he revert to normal whole with all those chips in his body?—and got her answer an instant later, when he suddenly groaned, his eyes rolling into his sockets.

The ice melted away to reveal his regular uniform. It was free of the cracks and chips she'd been looking at seconds ago.

And it was a relief, but it would've been even better if he hadn't passed out.

"I'm getting tired of this," Lucas said, waving a hand to throw Pietro against Wanda as she raised blue-coated hands. In almost the same way Rogue and Bobby had done earlier, the two siblings fell to the grass in a sorry heap.

Rogue pulled herself up, scowling. "I'm getting pretty damn sick of you myself."

He sighed. "They said you'd be a problem child. And it looks like you're living up to expectations."

She tried to help Pietro and Wanda stand with the TK, but Lucas slapped them to the ground again, nullifying her efforts. "You want to know what I think, though?" he said. "I think you're a rather sad creature. Just pointless, really."

Her eyes narrowed into slits.

"Can't even blame your mum on this. Seems Mystique has an understanding of things that you just refuse to try to grasp, no matter what. It's precisely because you're so willfully daft that I wonder why they bother with you."

"You talk too much," Rogue said, fire forming around her clenched fists.

"And you don't think enough." Lucas scoffed at her. "I've half a mind to just leave you behind when I take the others. Icicle over there, Magma, that Sparky lad—I can see their potential. And you'd better believe I'll be back for your friends Kitty and Jean—and tell you right now, I'm rather looking forward to those particular encounters. But you—"

She launched herself at him. He sneered and froze her in place. "No control, no insight, no _ambition."_

Her TK was useless—she couldn't free herself. Couldn't help the others, when Lucas lifted one hand to throw an unconscious Pietro and Wanda into the hole Magma had made earlier for the Blob. As fallen trees moved to cover the hole, Lucas scoffed at Rogue. "See now? You're irrelevant, R—"

"NOOO!"

Something small, fast, and furious jumped onto Lucas and tackled him to the ground. His hold on Rogue broke, but shock kept her rooted to the spot in those first few seconds.

Lucas was getting the crap beaten outta him by Todd.

"Get her out of that hole, you jackass!" he shouted, pummeling Lucas with frenzied punches and kicks. "Get her out _now_!"

Another few seconds had Rogue running over to them. It was just in time to see close-up Todd's boot landing on Lucas's chin. That seemed to wake Lucas up, finally.

"Enough!" he roared, gripping Todd in place with his TK a moment before telepathy took him out for good.

It warmed her stomach to see the cuts and bruises and blood and dirt on Lucas's body. "Teach you not to lock the boy in the closet," she said, and launched herself at him as he stood shakily.

It was like a hug without any good intentions. She just needed to hang on as long as possible with her bare hands wrapped around his neck. He just needed to fall into a coma.

Didn't seem to be happening any time soon, though, as they suddenly shot into the air.

She mustered all the strength she had left to keep from being thrown off. Needles pricked her head—a million of them jamming every which way from temple to base—but she held off on passing out, too. Even when her body started to burn, and she saw her arms wrapped in flames—even then, she wasn't gonna give the bastard the satisfaction of screaming.

With the telepathy that was flowing into her, she projected, *Do your worst, dipshit.*

They were pretty far up at this point. His powers were going haywire, his telekinesis rocketing them higher and higher in the sky as the fire on her arms spread out even wider now, surrounding both their bodies. She couldn't feel its heat, though. The pyrokinetic layer was probably covering a telekinetic shield.

He was waiting for her to say uncle. But all her energy was bent on keeping hold. She'd be damned if she'd waste any of it by talking. And the pinpricks were fading away and she could feel his breathing getting more ragged by the second.

Any moment now, he would pass out.

Any moment…and she stared with wide eyes at the full moon facing her between the sparking flames. Huge, pale, lovely—even in the battle that was preoccupying her at the moment, she'd be damned if she couldn't take a little time to appreciate the awesome nearness of the thing.

Lucas _was _a jackass. Such a pretty night, and with his powers he could've really enjoyed it. But what did the fool do except waste everyone's time by attacking a buncha kids?

*His bunch of kids,_* _came the voice_. _*His bunch of pseudo-kids that—_____*_

*He picked over his real one, and why does my life suck because I can't get over myself and everyone hates me? Sing me a new one, will ya?*

*You mock me, you ignorant—*

*Little fool. Spineless twit. Stupid bitch. Go on.* She dug her nails into his skin. *Y'know, maybe you were right. Maybe I _am _irrelevant—not enough control, not enough of the right sorta insight, and gotta agree that I sure as hell don't give enough of a shit sometimes. But you wanna know what I think?*

He strained away from her fingers, punching and kicking uselessly as the fire shield around them flared brightly for one short instant.

*I remind you of David, but you're wrong there. I think it's you an' me, Lucas—you an' me with a longer list of things in common.* And with that, they veered suddenly through the sky, in a n-shaped arc that sent them spiraling rapidly back to earth.

*What the bloody hell are you doing?*

*Adding one more thing to that list.*

She and Lucas were going to crash into the lake and hopefully pass out together. If not, they'd at least be too weak to fight Gambit when he fished them out, too weak to do much of anything but drip water when he shot them with the tranq gun.

She willed the flames to die down, the telekinetic coating to thin to a bare layer. His counter efforts lacked any kind of verve, and as they careened through the air in those last seconds before hitting the lake—her grip still viselike despite Lucas flailing about—Rogue thought idly about Kurt, and how he'd have another reason to be heated at her if this gamble didn't pay off.

Then they landed. Her body exploded from the pressure of—God, it felt lik_e_ knives. The TK layer dissipated.

Water filled her lungs as her hold on Lucas eased, and the darkness of the lake flowed into the black in her mind.

* * *

He started running to join the fray when Lucas threw Magneto's pups into the ditch. Toad's appearance slowed him down in the short time the boy took his turn in the beat-the-bastard spotlight, but when he passed out and Rogue jumped on Lucas, Remy resumed his run.

No use, though. By the time he reached the lump of Toad on the ground, Rogue and Lucas were already a couple of thousand feet in the air. As Remy watched the pair shoot straight up higher and higher, saw the fire blaze up suddenly around them, his stomach spasmed.

Hadn't done that in a while. And it only did that when he was worried.

He'd heard Lucas's speech, had noticed how it seemed to strike a chord in the girl. It might've pissed her off enough to strike back in a way that could also get her hurt. On one hand, a girl who called herself 'the Rogue' couldn't be anything but the risky type, and while Remy appreciated that kind of nerve, on the other hand was the fact was that she was training under Xavier—the epitome of caution himself—so anything too far beyond the line was off limits, _oui_?

'Course, she was also training under the Wolverine.

"_Merde_," Remy said, watching the spark in the sky that was Rogue and Lucas suddenly curve back towards the ground, their velocity unchanged.

_Dieu_, but he hoped she'd found a way to handle this. They were heading straight back down—right into the lake, if she couldn't stop them. That'd be one hell of an impact, one Remy wasn't sure even their fancy fire shield would protect them from.

Then he saw the flames disappear, and the bodies in the sky got a whole lot tinier as they went into freefall.

Remy's stomach dropped to his feet.

_Rogue_—

They crashed, the impact reverberating through the ground, drowning out any other sound in his ears. Water was everywhere—vast amounts of it, reaching high enough to wet the tops of trees, far enough to drench Remy by the time he got to the edge of the lake.

He dove.

When he was younger, swimming with Henri and his cousins had led to all kinds of competition, and Remy had pushed himself to be the fastest, fanciest, the most resistant. He'd pushed himself to learn how to hold his breath under water for a good spell—even set a record for the family.

Looking for Rogue now, he broke that record.

But still he couldn't find her. Lucas, neither. His lungs about to burst, he rushed back up to break the surface, took in great heapings of air. He was about to dive back down again when he saw a glow in the water not too far from him—a golden hue in the lake that got brighter—

Just before Rogue shot up from the lake, wrapped in flames again. Lucas was hanging limply from her arms.

Remy swam to the banks as she touched down on the grounds and dropped Lucas. Then she closed her eyes and stood still for a few seconds. The fire died down again.

Dripping water behind him, Remy approached them quickly, quelling the urge to check Rogue over for injuries. That long drop, the extreme landing—and all she seemed to have were the same cuts and bruises he'd seen earlier. "You in one piece, _cherie_?" he couldn't help asking anyway.

"_Ja_. Except I'm not a cherry."

Remy blinked. An anxious male and German-accented voice, in place of a girl's low and lazy Southern drawl. "What the hell?" he said. "Nightcrawler?"

"_Ja_." Rogue—Nightcrawler—no, Rogue, this was _Rogue's _body, dammit—frowned. "Except I might not be here for long."

"What's goin' on? Where's Rogue?"

"Rogue is busy right now keeping a leash on mental-Lucas. She—" Her eyes spaced out a little. "She says—and I'm quoting, okay, so don't shoot the messenger—but she says, 'You got your clear shot, dammit, so take it already.'"

Remy raised a brow, then pulled out his tranq gun. Raising it to Lucas, he squeezed the trigger. A dart shot out and imbedded itself in Lucas's arm.

"_Gut_," said Rogue. "Now me."

"What?" Remy said, shocked.

Rogue sighed. "If you don't, there's a chance he could take over. She wants you to end it now before—and I'm quoting again—'the Lucas inside my head decides to break your face.'"

"Well, I ain't doing it."

Rogue's body convulsed. "_Meiner meinung nach_—" She shook again. "You should listen to—" Shook even more. "_Mein schwester_." One last shudder, and then she crumpled to the grass.

Before Remy could take a step, her hand raised to freeze him in place. "Rogue—"

"Not the time for a debate, Gambit," and this sounded exhausted and determined and pissed and entirely _her_.

"You know what this is packing, _cherie_? It's enough to put a horse to sleep for two days."

"Do I look like Mr. Ed to you?"

Fire started sparking around her hand, at the same time Remy felt his head start to tingle. "What're you doing to me?" he said.

"Not me. Lucas. I don't have Kurt or any of the others anymore, and arguin' with you's just wasting my focus and energy." She put her hands to her head, clenching her eyes shut as Remy found himself able to move again. "Lucas, try that again and I'll ram myself into the nearest building at high-speed."

In a second, Remy had the gun trained on her. "Rogue," he said gently.

She opened her eyes, and the gaze they shared was long enough for him to wish for a moment that the world they knew wasn't such a damn hassle, because he'd have liked to take her out just then for a cup of coffee.

He shot her instead.


	8. Eight

**- EIGHT -**

Four days after the attack, she found herself staring out the window, looking at bright blue skies and the clear sparkle of sunshine on a wide field of green that made sitting in the Professor's study feel like she was hiding out in a small, dark closet.

The virus was out of Rogue's system now. So were the sluggish bits of sleep that had lingered on, after she'd first woken up in the med bay on Monday night to find Logan sitting beside the bed.

"We won?" she'd asked groggily, as he pulled up nearer.

"Looks like."

"Everybody okay?"

"Concussions and sprains for the elf and Ray, but Hank says they'll be fine."

"Where's Lucas?"

Logan scowled. "Charles is bringing him someplace safe, quiet—and fully equipped and willing to deal with the little runt."

He'd gone on to tell her the rest of what she'd been too tired to ask about. His team had gotten back as quick as they could after they got the automatic distress call sent out by the mansion's alarms. They'd found everyone passed out in various places on the estate and gathered them all up in the med bay. Most had managed to avoid staying there, but Ray and Kurt's injuries kept them under monitor, and Rogue—well, along with some bruises and cuts was the tranq dart lodged in her arm, same as Lucas, so they'd been conked out for two nights straight.

Her then sleep-addled brain had only wanted the basics from Logan—the danger was gone, the mansion still stood, people were in one piece. And when she'd eased her mind on those worries, more sleep was all she wanted. He'd understood, had been on the point of leaving when she thought of one last thing.

"Whose tranq darts, Logan?"

He stopped. "What?"

"Who shot us?"

"You don't know?"

"Why would I?"

That had brought on a whole new round of questioning. And when Hank showed up, returning to sleep was put off for a time, as it came out that all her memories of everything after absorbing Lucas were gone. It was a slight case of amnesia that she'd learned was a symptom she shared with Sam, 'Berto, Amara, Lance, and Freddie.

Everyone whose heads Lucas had played in, one way or another.

Lucas throwing her into the woods after she'd used her powers on him was the last thing she remembered. Bobby's report apparently had her rejoining the fight. Todd of all people had had the fullest account of the battle, and backed up Bobby, Pietro, and Wanda when they pointed to Rogue as the last of them standing against Lucas.

Would've been flattering, if she only knew what the hell had happened after that.

Later, thinking on it with a clearer head, Rogue decided the mystery of the tranq darts would have to remain just that for now. Logan sniffed around for a little while around the estate, and by now he must've caught a few clues, but he was keeping quiet about them.

Seemed to her that if he wasn't sharing, it probably wasn't any big thing for everyone to dwell on, especially considering everything else they had to deal with, like figuring out just where it was that Lucas had wanted to take them and who the people were behind his attack. And, as always, monitoring Apocalypse's next move.

Soon enough, it was pretty much back to business as usual.

Coming home from school that afternoon, the Professor summoned her into the study, the first time since he came back from wherever he'd gone with Ororo to drop off Lucas. On her way to see him, Rogue had to remind herself that in the battle, she'd reportedly outlasted the others, so this meeting now—it couldn't possibly be about the Professor taking her off the team. Just—no.

God, she hoped it wasn't.

When she walked in, he was sitting behind his desk sorting through the mail there. He didn't look like he was about to kick her out. He just looked really beat. As she took a seat and tried not to stare, she remembered a few weeks ago when the Professor came home from Scotland, how he'd seemed so _old _to her. Old and tired.

Seeing him now, his head bent over the stack of envelopes, the lines of his face furrowed, the wrinkles on his hands showing clear as his fingers moved slowly—seeing him like this, he seemed worse. Old and tired and _ill_.

He caught her staring anyway, and said, "I'm sorry, Rogue. I don't mean to keep you waiting."

"No rush, Professor."

"Perhaps I placed it with the other stack…" he trailed off, opening a cabinet under the desk. "So I have."

He guided his hover chair to where she sat. "Here it is," he said, holding out a small, open envelope addressed to him. The handwriting on it was unfamiliar to Rogue—it was the name on the top left corner of the envelope that caught her eyes.

She scanned the postmark and couldn't help smiling ironically. "She sent this on Friday, same day I got all my packages back."

"Ms. Adler seems to have a remarkable sense of timing."

Rogue glanced at him. She'd never told anyone about one of the things she'd learned from the first time she'd gotten Mystique's memories—but the Professor probably had a few thoughts on the matter. He'd probably figured out Irene was a mutant even before Rogue knew.

"Why're you letting me read your mail, Professor?" she said, sliding the letter out.

"I thought you should know," he said quietly, as she read the few lines on the stationery. Again it was the unfamiliar script that marked the paper, but the words were Irene's.

When Rogue finished reading, she gave the letter back without a word.

"Rogue—"

"You wanted me to know," she said.

He looked away. "If you want, I'll write back to her, ask her to reconsider her request."

"No, it's fine. It's better this way." She stood. "You probably don't need to be bothered with it, though."

"It's no bother at all to me. Assuming guardianship over you is a privilege I welcome, Rogue. And one that I suspect Ms. Adler feels compelled to sacrifice for your own sake. Despite what it looks like right now, I believe she looks on you as family. She cares for you deeply."

She looked at him. "Those were his same exact words," she said absently.

"I'm sorry?"

"Lucas. 'It's no bother at all to me.' That's just what he said. Even kinda said it how you just did, only his words had a different meaning behind them." She squinted now, studying the Professor's features. Lucas had his nose. "Did you take him somewhere far away, Professor?"

He looked surprised. "You're safe from him, Rogue."

"Wasn't asking if I'm safe, but if he's far. Can you visit him when you want?"

"I…" And then he sighed. "Yes, I can visit him. I'm—allowed that."

"You plannin' to?"

"Yes."

"Good." She walked to the door. "One family falls apart, another one starts mending. Evens out, see?"

She left.

* * *

Near the Acolyte base was a diner staffed by pretty waitresses and offering decent lunches. Remy had spent most of his time there in his last few months with the Acolytes, so when he walked in now and sat in his usual spot at one corner of the counter, a waitress came up to wink at him with a welcoming grin.

"Welcome back, stranger. The usual?"

"'Fraid not, Barb. I can't stay long. _Seul un café noir, s'il vous plait._"

"There you go with that fancy French again," she said, moving behind the counter to pour him a cup. "I've been brushing up on it while you were gone, you know. _Le mari_ thinks I'm going mad, but just wait. He'll be taking me overseas soon, and while he's floundering like a fish, I'll be _parlez-vous_-ingwith the Parisians."

He smiled as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug. This was the first spot in this part of New York where he'd found people who seemed to understand the meaning of the word 'hospitality.' If the food were just a little bit spicier, the accents just a touch more lilting—he'd almost think he was back in the South.

Rogue would probably like this place.

He glanced out the window to the sunny streets outside and wondered if she'd woken up yet.

After he'd shot her, he knew he couldn't do anything more for anyone but keep watch until the other X-Men came. When they finally did, he'd brushed a light, deft touch across Rogue's cheek. "Sleep well, _cherie_."

And left with the intention of returning, both to check on her and to carry out his whole purpose in going to the mansion in the first place. His father still needed help, and Remy still needed to have that talk with Xavier.

He couldn't bring himself to go back, though, for whatever reason. It wasn't fear, or being lazy, or expecting a rejection. None of those were things he really worried about. Yet there was definitely something nagging him now. Keeping him from making a move. And while his trade had long ago fostered in him a wired kind of patience, still—he only had so much of that before it had to give.

He sighed into his mug, disturbed.

"Hey, bub."

Remy froze, staring at the coffee as a familiar form took the seat beside him.

"Afternoon, sir," Barb said. "How can I help you?"

"You got Molson?"

"Sure do. Which—"

"Canadian."

Barb nodded smoothly at the man's rudeness. "Be right back, then."

Remy put his mug down carefully, recovering enough at that point to glance at his neighbor.

Who glowered.

"Listen up, you little shit," Wolverine said. "Whatever you got planned, I'm watchin' you."

"_C'est genial._ But I'm plannin' on taking a leak in the next two minutes, so you oughtta rethink that strategy."

Wolverine's eyes narrowed. "Maybe I ain't makin' myself clear." He brought one hand to rest next to Remy's coffee and probably would've popped his claws into it in some kind of obvious show of pointless aggression—but Remy swiftly took the mug away and stood.

"Let's chat outside. No need to upset the patrons, _oui_?"

So it was that he somehow found himself standing in an alley facing Wolverine, who looked ready to throw him into one of the trash bins. Remy didn't care. He lit a cigarette casually, asking, "She up yet?"

"What, you care? You're the one that shot her."

"She asked me to," he said, taking a puff.

Logan's hand twitched. Remy expected his claws to unsheathe but surprisingly, the man only said, "Then what?"

Remy frowned. "Then she passed out." What was this—she'd woken up, right? "Why you askin' a question Rogue shoulda already answered?"

"Because," Wolverine said, growling. "She's missing some memories of the fight."

"A lot?"

"Enough."

"So you're here to grill me?"

"No. I think I can figure out how things went down, what role you played. That's why you're still standing."

"_De rien, monsieur_."

The glare on Wolverine's face was keen. "But I don't know your motives, and I don't intend to find out. Too much goin' on right now, kid, for any of us to be bothered. That's why you're gonna walk away, and stay away."

Remy bristled. "I make my own choices, _homme_."

"You make a stupid choice and cause trouble, you're gonna get hurt."

"I ain't caused no trouble, but it sure seems to me you people up on that lofty hill like to welcome it in your home. There's a maniac tryin' to take over the world, and you leave the pups alone—to deal with _other _maniacs beefin' against the X-Men. Tell me again who's makin' stupid choices?" Remy threw his cigarette down. "I figure if anyone walks away, it oughtta be people like Rogue. The ones who don't need to be caught up in all the mess."

"Rogue's one of us. No matter what kinda mess, we look for out for each other."

"Maybe you force her to stick around, _non_?"

"I got a good idea of how Buckethead ran the Acolytes, so you probably can't understand that Rogue stays because it's her _choice_. The day comes when she wants to roam, no one's gonna get in her way." Wolverine turned away now, walking off. "Meanwhile, you stay out of ours."

Remy kept silent as Wolverine turned the corner and disappeared. He hadn't run out of smart remarks—no chance in that, since short and hairy offered plenty of good fodder for insults—but an idea had just popped into his brain that made everything clear and explained the nagging in his head.

He didn't want to ask Xavier for help. He wanted to ask Rogue. And maybe in helping him, he'd help her. Away from Mystique, from the X-Men, she'd see that she could stand on her own two feet without people running her life.

Maybe now was a good time for Rogue to start roaming. Maybe someone only needed to point her in the right direction.

Maybe he was that someone.

Whistling to himself, Remy put out his cigarette on the ground and went back inside the diner. Coffee was probably cold by now, but Barb refilled it as he took his seat. He smiled at her efficiency.

"So," she said. "I got a bottle of Molson here and no boorish Canadian in sight to appreciate it."

"Sorry 'bout him. He was found at the age of twelve livin' with a family of baboons. Ain't grasped the finer skills of communication yet."

She shook her head. "You better watch yourself, son. He looked like one truly unreceptive papa. Don't you get yourself in over your head with the wrong kind of girl now."

"Why waste time with the wrong girls," he said, smirking. "When the right one's just ripe for the pluckin'?"

** END **


End file.
